The Stolen Prince
by theblackeden
Summary: AU: The Luck Estate is home to a happy, wealthy family, including the young Lord, Jackson Frost. Only, when the family goes bankrupt, Jack learns that he is going to have to marry to save his estate. Simultaneously, Pitch Black is plotting to kidnap the young lord. When the two finally meet, however, things become much more complicated than anticipated. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

"Tell me everything you saw, from the beginning." Pitch demanded blatantly. His two top henchmen, Edgar and Simon, both very large and stocky in stature, stood before his elegant looking mahogany desk. Their hands clasped behind their backs, the pair looked forward, respectfully avoiding Pitch's eye.

"From what we've seen sir, the grounds are completely secure. Guards are positioned around the circumference of the estate and at every entrance. The boy himself is hardly ever alone, except when he resides in his quarters." Edgar said. Pitch rested back in his leather chair, folding his hands over his stomach, lost in thought. His eyebrows creased in concern.

"Where are the boy's chambers located?" he questioned thoughtfully.

"On the third floor of the estate, far right. There are windows, but they are positioned in the guard's direct line of sight," Simon replied. Pitch looked at the two of them. These men were two of his finest assistants, and Pitch trusted their judgment when it came to breaking and entering. He had always preferred to keep the company of the intellectual in his midst, rather than those who were simply muscle and no brain. What use was a stupid henchman? But if what they told him was true, then this would be much harder than he originally anticipated. His usual breaking and entering would be completely out of the question, and any teleportation would be risky. Pitch could only teleport within the boundaries of shadows, and he never really knew where he would end up. Trying to get _into _the estate would be much too tricky for his liking. Pitch's mind whirled with this new information, attempting to compensate for it. It was expected that the estate would be heavily guarded, but not to such an extent.

"This will be no easy feat: that much I had gathered." He thought aloud.

"Sir? With all due respect, it appears to be damn near impossible to penetrate the defenses from the outside," Simon pointed out, "but once we're behind the security lines, it could easily be done."

"Is there any way we could maneuver above or below the estate without being detected?" Pitch asked, tapping a finger to his lips. "Perhaps we could create a tunnel or some sort, or use one of my various aircrafts?"

"More of a chance than trying to go through on foot, but still very risky. It would also take much more time to plan out."

Pitch considered this, and decided that the odds were against him. He did not like the idea of quitting, but the chances of him succeeding were slim. However, he was unwilling to rush into anything, or make any rash decisions. Patience, he thought to himself. There was always a way, he just needed time to discover it. Pitch placed two of his long fingers between his eyes in a tired manner, moving his other hand to rest on the desk.

"Have you any positive information that I could actually use to my advantage?" Pitch prompted. The two men looked at one another. Then, Edgar reached into his bag. He pulled forth a sheet of paper that crumpled slightly under the weight of his massive grip. Pitch delicately took the paper, and flipped it over. Quickly skimming the information on the sheet, Pitch's concerned expression slowly morphed into one of euphoria. He let out a quick, airy laugh before abruptly standing up in his chair, leaning forward with the paper in his grip.

"This is from the estate?" he asked eagerly. The two henchmen nodded.

"We discovered a few of them in the garbage outside the walls. Not sure why they were tossed out, but we thought it could be of some informational use." Edgar explained.

Pitch bared his teeth in a greedy smile, as he looked back down at the sheet. The delicate golden embroidery laced around the edges gave the paper an elegant look as he waved it around in the air excitedly.

"This is perfect. This is our way in!"

"Sir?" the Simon questioned, but Pitch was too far gone to answer, concocting his plan that very moment.

"If you could get past the barrier of security to a rendezvous point somewhere within the mansions perimeter, how soon could we obtain the boy?"

"Mere minutes, sir," said Edgar sternly.

"Then listen carefully," Pitch leered, drawing them in by their curiosity.

* * *

The Luck estate was a luxurious mansion that resided in the eastern hemisphere of the planet Mond Kniaso. It was considered one of the most prestigious bourgeoisie estates in the capitalist community. Lord and Lady Luck were kind, considerate people, who aided those less fortunate than them. They had four adopted children, all from various backgrounds: Jackson, Toothania, Nicholas, and Bunnymund. They were the heirs and heiresses of the estate, and one day, Lord and Lady Luck decided it was time to use their status to their advantage.

"The last thing I want is to get married!" Jack stated blatantly as he chucked a snowball at the trunk of the oak tree with a loud _thwak! _Snow particles scattered around the chipped bark, and some escaped into the air before settling back on the snowy ground.

"I know Jack, I know! And I wish I could convince mother and father otherwise, but there's no stopping them." Toothania pleaded with him, crossing her arms over her chest from the cold. Jack turned to face her, looking weary.

"It's just… I like my freedom! I'm happy! Marriage is a form of subjugation! I'd have to tie myself down and be… responsible," he complained, pulling himself into a pompous posture on the last words to prove his point. Then, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I just… want things to stay the way that they are."

Tooth looked at him pitifully, which Jack hated. He didn't need comfort from others, but he still allowed her to hug him in consolation.

"I know Jack. And we all want you to be happy! We only want the best for our little brother! But desperate times call for desperate measures, and… well…" Tooth stammered, looking around nervously. Jack knew she did not want anyone to overhear, because she was indicating to the fact that they were broke. The family estate had gone completely bankrupt a few months back, and they needed money, fast. Lord and Lady Luck had been considering all the possible options, but the best one would be to obtain money through their children.

"I could do so much more than get married, though!" Jack argued in a hushed tone, praying that none of the guards were close enough to eavesdrop, "I mean… Bunny and North don't have to get married! I could inherit the estate, or go off and become a businessman of sorts…"

But as soon as Jack said the words, he realized he didn't want any of those futures either. Both sounded rather boring, and almost as bad as marriage. Tooth was shaking her head, her long brown hair falling into her eyes.

"No Jack, both you and I know that that's completely impossible. You're the youngest, so mother and father would never let you inherit the estate when they could give it to North. You're still too young to become a business man, and seeing as we have little time, you have limited options."

Jack dipped his hand back into the snow, cupping it perfectly in his hands, and began patting it down to make yet another snowball. He knew Tooth was right, but he didn't want to believe it.

"Anyway," Tooth continued, "I think we should be grateful. At least it's not completely arranged! There will be plenty of eligible suitors to choose from at the cotillion this evening."

"Yeah, I guess I should thank mum and dad for letting me pick the cage I'm going to be stuck in for the rest of my life," Jack mumbled. Tooth smacked his arm.

"Look wise guy, I'm not too fond of the idea either, but we have no choice. We might as well make the best of the situation at hand!" she snapped.

"Why?" Jack retorted persistently, "Just because I can't back out of this, doesn't mean I have to act like I enjoy it."

"Try. For mum and dad's sake." Tooth answered softly, "They've done so much for us Jack. Give them this one thing in return. They need us right now."

A hot air balloon of guilt swelled in Jack's chest, pressing on his stomach, and making him feel ill. He knew more than anyone that Lord and Lady Luck deserved his cooperation. Every one of their children was adopted, including Jack who had been mysteriously left on the estate's doorstep mere hours after he had been born. The Lord and Lady could have easily given him up to nearest orphanage, but the benign couple took him in as their own: fed him, clothed him, and spoiled him rotten. They both loved Jack, regardless of where he might've come from, even though Jack had a habit of getting himself into trouble.

When Jack didn't respond to Tooth's argument, she huffed the cold air out of her lungs impatiently.

"I'm going to go and see if mum needs any help. Do you want me to bring you your jacket? It's freezing out here."

"No thanks," Jack said softly. Oddly enough, he wasn't all that cold. He heard Tooth's soft footsteps in the snow as she moved back towards the house. When she had gone, Jack slid down the tree trunk in exasperation, his insides twisting with angst. Regardless of how hospitable his guardians had been, it didn't seem fair that he had to throw his life away so early in the game. He was still so young, with so much potential. There was so much he could do, if given the chance. The small snowflakes fell through the cracks between his fingers as he absentmindedly fondled the snow.

Suddenly, a loud snap could be heard from above. Jack froze, anticipation settling in. He immediately became hyperaware, and didn't dare move. Silence fell over the yard, and Jack could faintly here the creaking of branches from above him. Someone was in the tree, watching his every move. They had probably heard every word spoken between him and Toothania, which meant the family's secret of bankruptcy, was in jeopardy. Jack could feel beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. From above, he felt eyes piercing the skin on the back of his neck. He held his breath anxiously, not daring to call for help just yet, though security was plentiful. He slowly began to inch towards a stray branch that had fallen to the ground, in the hope of using it as a weapon.

"GOTCHA!" Screamed a voice as something heavy landed on top of Jack before he could reach out and grab the stick. Jack cried out in surprise when his face was unexpectedly slammed into the cold, wet snow. The person atop him laughed with delight as Jack looked up, shaking the white flakes from his hair.

"Jamie!" he cried out in pleasure and relief. The young boy, no older than Jack, had shaggy brown hair, dark eyes, and freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. He sat on top of Jack casually, a large grin on his flushed face, breathing excitedly.

"Who else? What, did you think I was some kind of burglar?" he laughed, "Do you have any idea how long I was up there? My leg cramped up at least twice! Thought I would fall for sure!"

Jack rolled his eyes and tried to stand, but Jamie pressed down harder, denying him the privilege. Jack's smiled widened dangerously at the challenge. Without a moment's notice, he rolled over suddenly, and Jamie's body went flying out from under him. Jack then yanked his legs out, and threw a fistful of snow in Jamie's direction as he stood up. Jamie stuck his tongue out in defeat.

"Next time, you could just come in through the yard," Jack laughed, "No need to be so melodramatic."

Jamie gave him a sarcastic pout.

"But where's the fun in that?" he said sourly, before brushing the rest of the snow out of his eyes. "Anyways, I didn't come here to beat you at wrestling."

Jack smirked before he kicked Jamie in the thigh. He squealed defensively in response.

"Right, because you've got me _completely _beaten," Jack mocked, batting his big blue eyes a Jamie sarcastically.

"Shut it. What's this about you getting _married?"_ Jamie exclaimed, rolling on his side curiously.

Jack helped him up, and explained to him what was going to happen that very night; though, he left out the part about the family being broke. It seems as if Jamie hadn't heard him and Tooth discussing it, which Jack was thankful for. Of course Jack could trust Jamie, they were best friends! However, he figured he'd better not risk it.

"Wow… so, basically, you're giving up your entire life, and you don't have any say in the matter?" Jamie exclaimed.

"Yeah," Jack shrugged somberly. Jamie, sensing his friend's malcontent, punched him lightly on the shoulder in a kindly gesture. Jack gave him a half-hearted smile, but in reality, he had never felt so helpless.

"You want to go throw some snowballs at the leprechauns? That'll make you feel better," Jamie suggested. Jack let out a dry laugh.

"Remember the last time we did that? We got in so much trouble!" He responded, recalling Lady Luck's wrath when she had discovered them torturing her beloved pets. Personally, Jack hated the little creatures. They caused nothing but mischief, and became very violent when one even mentioned gold.

"So… you want to or not?" Jamie said, raising his eyebrows in expectancy.

"Race you to the gardens!"


	2. Chapter 2

"I SWEAR TO GOD JACKSON," Lady Luck bellowed, "ITS ALMOST AS IF EVERYTHING I SAY IS A FOREIGN LANGUAGE TO YOU!"

She yanked Jack into his chambers by the ear, which was now very red in contrast to Jack's pale skin. She threw him down onto his bed in frustration.

"If tonight wasn't such an important night, you would be in so much trouble young man!" She yelled.

"Lucky it's a really important night, hmm?" he played innocently, batting his lashes at his mother. She cut her eyes at him menacingly.

"I've said it once, and I'll say it again: LEAVE. THE LEPRACHAUNS. ALONE!"

"We weren't hurting them! Just having a bit of fun that's all!" Jack cried out defensively. Lady Luck placed a hand on her hip condescendingly. She looked at Jack for a long period of time, making Jack shift uncomfortably. Slowly, her anger vanished, and she started to look weary and weak, as if life was too heavy a weight that rested on her shoulders.

"Perhaps you're not as ready for this as we had hoped," she wondered softly. Jack's stomach dropped as he felt that same familiar guilt. He hung his head in shame, clasping his hands together in his lap.

"I am. I am ready," he lied bitterly. Regardless of how much he hated what she was making him do, Jack hated worrying his mother.

"Good!" she declared abruptly, snapping back into her lively self as if nothing had happened. "Then act like it. From this point on you will need to be responsible, and respectful. I expect you to be on your best behavior tonight, is that clear?"

"Yes ma'am," Jack mumbled, giving up, and flopping back onto his bed.

"I mean it Jackson! None of your usual funny business! This is a very important occasion!" She nagged.

"I promise," he groaned.

"Good. The maids will be here shortly to help you bathe and dress. We've got a little over 2 hours before the cotillion begins. I expect to see you downstairs at a quarter past 7," She hassled. Jack was only partially listening at this point, the growing knot of stress in his stomach making it hard to concentrate. Suddenly, he felt a gentle hand caress his cheek. He looked up to see his mother sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing an expression of concern.

"I know this is all happening very fast," she said tenderly, "and I'm sorry for that. But you understand why we're doing this, yes? We want our children to be happy. We want to ensure that you lead fulfilled lives."

Jack felt the words he wanted to say dance on the tip of his tongue before they died away. Marriage wasn't going to make him happy, and it was a long ways from fulfillment in his eyes. But Jack simply nodded to show he understood. His mother gave him a quick, affectionate peck on the forehead.

"You will make some lucky man, or woman, very happy."

Then, she whirled out of his room in a hurry; she had things to do before the big night. Jack on the other hand, was perfectly content lying on his luxurious bed spread, pretending that he had no worries or fears in the world. He closed his eyes and dreamed of adventures he could undergo; the places he could visit, and the people he could meet. It was a life outside of the estate and the rich upper class responsibilities. It was a beautifully blissful world, completely carefree, filled with fun and laughter.

"Master Jackson? Master Jackson!" A woman's voice beckoned. Jack felt his body being shaken as he opened his eyes instantly. He looked at the two maids that stood before him, with one holding what looked like new robes. The other was rocking him from his slumber persistently.

"You must get ready, Master Jackson sir," she said. Jack rubbed his eyes and yawned as the two maids ushered him into the bathroom, where they stripped him, and filled the tub with hot water. Jack tried not to let the stress inside him mutate further as he allowed them to bathe him. He closed his eyes and tried to return to that happy place he had dreamt of, but it was difficult to concentrate when the maids were aggressively raking a comb through his knotted, wet hair. Different sweet smelling scents filled his nose and helped ease the ever increasing tension building in his shoulders.

Once he had been washed and dried, the maids laid out the garments he was to wear that evening on the bed. The robes were a light blue that reminded Jack of icicles, and the undergarments were the same shade as his skin: white as snow. Jack began to pull each article of clothing on as slowly as he could, biding as much time as he could manage. When he was finally done, Jack looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. He hadn't noticed that the robes had intricate, darker blue swirls running along the sleeves and down the sides. He took a moment to admire himself, and even tried to smile a little, but everything just felt numb.

"You can do this," Jack said to himself, staring directly into his own big blue eyes, "It's just a dance. Nothing to worry about. Just a dance…"

A loud knocking came from the other side of his door, and made Jack jump.

"Jack?" said a deep voice coated with a thick northern accent, "are you in there?"

Jack walked over and opened the door, coming face to face with Nick -or North as he preferred. North was dressed in red robes with brown cuffs. His own white hair was slicked back properly, and his beard shaven. Jack allowed himself to smile as he gazed up at his oldest brother. North's own grin was warm and friendly as he hit Jack on the back comfortingly.

"You ready?" He asked kindly.

"No," Jack said with a grimace, "but I suppose I'll have to be."

North gave Jack a sympathetic look, similar to the look Tooth had given him earlier that day. He cringed. Jack didn't need people to feel sorry for him. Contraire to popular belief, Jack could take care of himself. He wasn't weak, and he certainly didn't need others pity.

He simply just didn't want to get married.

Jack followed North down the winding staircase. When at the bottom, Jack watched as all the servants chaotically ran back and forth, carrying platters of food, and shouting things. Jack was nimble in maneuvering around them, but North was not so lucky. Servants collided with him, almost spilling the contents of their trays onto his dress robes on multiple occasions. Jack allowed himself to laugh at the clumsiness, to which North gave him a dangerous smirk. Finally, they reached the ballrooms, which was spacious and glittered with light. Light gold and pink danced off one another, creating an aura of heavenliness. The room was empty except for the four children and their parents, who now resided in their seats of power at the end of the room. Tooth ran forward, looking overwhelmingly stunning in her purple gown, and a glittering golden-green head piece. She smiled at Jack.

"The guests will start arriving at any moment." She said eagerly. Tooth was very sociable, and enjoyed people. Any man or woman would be lucky to marry her, and Jack knew that she would have no trouble finding a wife or husband. He swallowed hard and nodded. Tooth brushed his robes in a motherly fashion.

"You look great Jack. Stop worrying and just have fun!"

Jack gave her a reassuring smile, before hastily walking towards his parents, hoping to avoid more pity.

"… and they had a last minute schedule change and couldn't make it. I had the extra invitations thrown out!" Jack overheard his mother say. His father groaned.

"I was looking forward to meeting the Chichkanovs! You know, with the upcoming war, it would be handy to have them supplying the Northern region with the materials it needs! Ah, Jackson!" he said happily, his eyes twinkling as they landed on his youngest. "Look at my boy!"

Lord Luck's cheeks were flushed with pride and jollity. He was a short, stout man who dressed pompously, but his attitude was fun- loving and kind. His large potbelly jutted out from beneath his robes and his beard was thick, yet closely shaven.

Jack tried to smile for his parents as if nothing was wrong. He held out his hands, indicating to his outfit.

"Mum's got excellent taste," he brown nosed, making Lady Luck grin in appreciation. Her shiny black hair had been twisted intricately, and piled on top of her head, and she too wore a dark green head piece. Lord Luck chortled to himself in agreement.

"Excuse me, my lord and lady," said a servant who had wondered over to them in a hurry, looking flustered, "but the first of the guests are here."

"Alright everybody, best behavior!" Lady Luck announced, standing up swiftly. Jack's plastered smile wavered, and he felt sick. He coughed and nervously readjusted his collar, before he felt a hand rest on his back in a brotherly fashion.

"Can't wait to see what kind of nutjob would take you as a husband, eh?" Bunnymund teased. Jack rolled his eyes and shook the hand off his shoulder.

"Buzz off Bunny," jack retorted.

"Oh, touchy are we?" Bunny provoked, holding up his hands. Jack sneered at him.

"Not really in the mood for your games."

"Not in the mood for games? _You_?" Bunny said, shocked, "blimey, marriage is already taking its toll! And you haven't even met the suitors yet!"

Jack huffed off before he could respond. He and Bunnymund had never gotten along, but then Bunnymund got into business school, and things got much worse. Jack noticed that Bunnymund had gotten progressively narcissistic, and when the older brother discovered that Jack was going to be subjugated to marriage, he started to relentlessly taunt him. Jack hadn't even tried to explain to Bunnymund that he could be just as successful as him if given the chance, knowing that Bunny wouldn't care. This was a triumph for him in their long, bitter sibling rivalry, and he was going to draw it out for as long as he could.

Jack crossed his arms and sat down in his lavish throne chair, Tooth joining him a moment later.

"You ready?" she asked. Jack didn't respond, getting tired of answering that question.

* * *

"Lord Jackson," said the man, who had patches of grey hair and a very proper posture. Too proper, Jack decided. He looked old and dull, his eyes showing no signs of youth or excitement. Jack fought the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes, but he forced a smile instead. He sat upon his chair as self-importantly as he could, but he was beginning to fidget. Jack was shocked to discover that so many men and women were interested in his hand in marriage. He assumed it had to do with his wealth, because no one knew of their financial situation yet. He wanted to say people's interest in him was almost as prominent as their interest in Tooth, which was quite an accomplishment. She laughed and smiled at every gift presented to her, as if it were the most wonderful thing in the world.

"Lord Jackson, I present you with a gift," the man said dully. Jack bit back a retort, and waited patiently. Gifts given were a tradition, or course, but Jack didn't think he'd have to sit through so many. The man reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out something that glowed blue. The light leaked between his fingers as he slowly opened his palm. Out came something so quick that Jack couldn't quite catch what it was, until it landed on his shoulder.

"A snow fairy!" he exclaimed, truly pleased. The tiny being was cold, and exhibited a bright blue aura. It had large, eager eyes, and a hummingbird wings. It almost seemed to be smiling at Jack as it buzzed contently around his person.

"We had heard that you enjoyed the snow, and figured that it might be pleasing to have a novelty from the north. They're very hard to acquire, you know," the man said somberly. He didn't even seem slightly pleased about how much Jack enjoyed the gift. Jack gave him a stiff smile.

"Thank you sir, for it is truly a wonderful gift," He said truthfully. The man bowed low.

"I am here representing the Arch Duke of Faurder," The man stated unexpectedly, and Jack's eyebrows rose.

"Why did the Arch Duke not give me his gift personally?" He asked curiously, moving his hand as the fairy buzzed through his fingers.

"The Arch Duke is currently occupied with the protection of his people. There have been war threats from the south, and all royals have been called to the capital. The Arch Duke did want me to say that he would certainly travel to the estate within the week. He wants to meet you himself." The man admitted solemnly. Jack processed this, and nodded.

"I understand. Tell the duke his gift is great!"

The old man bowed once more before turning back into the masses of people. The snow fairy darted into Jack's robes, tickling his abdomen. Jack squealed with delight in a very unprofessional manner. Tooth looked over from her seat to glare at him, but Jack didn't care.

"I guess you need a name, don't you?" he pondered, tapping the side of his face in thought, "I'm terrible with names. Not really much of a creative spirit..."

"How about Snowflake?" Tooth suggested, and the fairy buzzed over to her, tickling her nose with snow dust.

"Nah, too cliché," Jack rejected. "Maybe… Ice Pick?"

"That sounds kind of deadly for something so cute," Tooth said. Jack wasn't sure if the fairy could understand them or not, but at that moment it decided to pinch Tooth, hard. She cried out.

"Ice Pick it is!" Jack declared, and the fairy zipped over to him, and darted into his coat pocket. Jack chuckled quietly, and then sighed. He looked up across the ballroom at the hundreds of people gathered in one big crowded cluster.

"How many more people do you think we'll have to get through?"

"Oh Jack, the night's only begun," Tooth replied. Even she looked slightly weary from all the fake smiles. Jack propped his arm onto the armrest and relaxed his cheek into his palm. It was going to be a long night.

It was then that he saw him: the tall, dark man. His aura captured Jack's eye, and he straightened up curiously. None of the other guests looked like him whatsoever, but he seemed to blend in perfectly all the same. The man's skin was tainted grey, and his eyes were a piercing gold. Each movement he made was graceful yet inconspicuous, like an subtle shadow dancing across the hall. He laughed and talked amongst the other guests sociably, and then abruptly turned his head towards Jack. Startled, Jack gasped, and his eyes widened. He was unprepared for the intensity of the eyes that kept him locked in that gaze. He couldn't look away as the dark man slowly grinned. Jack's mouth opened slightly, though no noise came out. His heart rattled violently in his chest. Faintly, he could hear a voice calling his name.

"Jack!" Tooth exclaimed. The dark man turned away, and Jack snapped from his trance to look at Tooth.

"Are you alright?" she asked in a worried tone. Jack gulped nervously, but nodded.

"I just… need to get a drink," he stated simply.

"Jack…" Tooth said skeptically.

"I'll be back, I swear! Just a drink!"

He hoped down from his chair, taking a moment to stretch. He felt the fairy stir in his pocket as he moved through the crowds of people, who whispered his name when he passed.

"_Lord Jackson… the youngest…"_

"_Parents want to get rid of him early… troublemaker that one…"_

"_Attractive, but has hardly half a brain…"_

Jack balled his fists together, driving his nails into his skin. Anger boiled inside his, making his face flush. One day he would show them. He was just as intelligent, and hardworking as any heir. It wasn't his fault. Marriage wasn't his choice!

He reached the drinks, various assortments of the finest wines and brandies. Jack preferred white wine, and snatched a glass, holding it up to his lips. The refreshing liquid flowed down his throat and soothed his insides. Warmth shot through him from his stomach all the way down to his toes. He sighed in content, and reached for another.

"Careful now. We don't want you too intoxicated Lord Jackson," said a beautifully rich voice from behind. Jack whirled around, abruptly coming face to face with the dark man, who smiled flirtatiously.

"At least, not yet."


	3. Chapter 3

Jack's heart began to flutter excitedly in his chest, but he wasn't sure if it was fear, or excitement. He felt ridiculous for standing there like a gaping fish: eyes wide, and unable to force words from his lips. The man only smiled at this as he reached forward, his tall figure leaning towards Jack intimately. The man's hand brushed past Jack's arm to grab a glass of wine for himself, and Jack immediately shut his mouth as he felt himself blush. The contact was quick, but it sent a thrill through Jack that he had never experienced before. Flustered, he tried to clear his throat and cover up his obvious embarrassment.

"I… I can take care of myself thank you," he finally managed to stammer, readjusting his collar idly.

"I doubt that," said the man, disregarded Jacks reassurance rudely. "I have been watching you, my lord, and you seem troubled; perhaps troubled enough to contemplate becoming drunk. Forgive my concern, but is there something you need to … discuss?"

He lingered on the last word, letting it hang in the air.

"I wasn't- I don't… I'm fine, thank you!" Jack argued stupidly, suddenly becoming aware that he had reached for yet another glass of wine, and retracted his hand. Who was this man to question Jack's actions? He did what he wanted! He didn't have to justify his actions to some stranger.

"You're lying." The man sighed obviously, swishing his drink around thoughtfully in one hand, "which is expected. How stupid of me to think I could possibly _relate _to poor, Jackson Frost? You are, of course, much more deserving of sympathy, seeing as you've got such a _hard_ life."

The sarcasm dripped from the man's words like poison nectar. Jack's hesitation vanished, and was replaced with shock at being addressed so mockingly. With his pride wounded, Jack's teeth grinded together impatiently, and he pursed his lips.

"Just who do you think you are?" he demanded firmly, "what gives you the right to think you could possibly relate to me? You know nothing about me!"

The man stared at the boy unenthusiastically, as if he had expected more of Jack. Jack on the other hand, no longer entranced by the gentleman before him, was rather irate.

"Arranged marriages can be difficult. One puts aside ones feelings so that they may help the community as a whole. Though, no one really stops to consider what effect this might have on the person. It's for the greater good, they say, a better cause! Completely shoved to the side, taken advantage of, and no one cares about you or your opinions…" the man answered wistfully. Jack was still irritated, but the words spoken by this man rang true. He felt a small connection burn within him like a curious flame, eager to discover more. Who was this man? Why had Jack never seen him before? When Jack said nothing, the man turned his whole body in his direction.

"I know exactly how you feel, Jack. And I know exactly who you are."

Jack's insides squirmed with confusion as he stared at the man, trying to figure him out.

"My name is Kozmotis Pitchiner. I am the general of the Golden Fleet." He introduced, holding out a hand for Jack to shake. Jack hesitantly took it, never breaking eye contact with the general. At this, Kozmotis laughed suggestively. Jack cleared his throat, a bit embarrassed as they released grips, his skin still tingling.

"So, you're married then?" Jack asked, crossing his arms defensively, resisting the urge to tensely gnaw on the insides of his cheek. Kozmotis raised an eyebrow with a playful, yet dangerous grin dancing on his lips.

"Depends on whose asking."

"Well, you talk about arranged marriage like you've had experience. One would think-"

"I… am currently not in a committed relationship," he replied smoothly.

"Currently? So you were at one point?"

"Why such a curiosity in my past, Lord Jackson?" Kozmotis addressed curtly, leaving the question unanswered. Jack shifted his weight a little.

"I could ask the same of you," he replied.

"What?"

"You said you know exactly who I am, and how I feel about this whole marriage situation. You make it sound as if you've done your homework on me, general. Why such a curiosity in me?"

Kozmotis forced an uncomfortable smile, but Jack could just faintly make out a trace of admiration in his expression. He probably hadn't expected Jack to be so observant. The general stared aimlessly into the massive crowds of dancing people, refusing to answer Jack. He merely sipped on his wine nonchalantly. Jack felt a small surge of triumph as he leaned lightly against the table, copying Kozmotis's look. The world seemed to exist outside of the two men for a moment as they watched other people dance and laugh.

"I was curious. You intrigued me, Jack," Kozmotis finally admitted, "and I wanted to know more about you: your past, where you came from, and what you were like. I wanted to meet you."

"Why?" Jack asked again. Kozmotis shrugged enigmatically.

"Why does anyone do anything?"

"Because we're only human," Jack responded casually, carefully noticing how Kozmotis had dodged the question again. At this, Kozmotis laughed breathily.

"Oh if only…"

Jack turned to look at him, and was about to ask him what he meant by that, when he found Kozmotis already watching him intently. Jack was once again caught in the hypnosis of those golden eyes, his cheeks growing redder by the second. His gut clenched in expectation, and the nerves in his spine tingled enthusiastically. Kozmotis, taking notice of Jack's entrancement, slowly moved his hand to rest on Jack's arm. His fingers were long as they curled around the muscle there, and Jack's heart rate increased by double. Kozmotis was clearly taking advantage of Jacks unexplainable weakness, yet Jack was all too willing to let him. His warm skin felt good as it heated the fabric of his robes, and in turn, warming the flesh beneath it.

"I like you, Jack," Kozmotis purred in a low tone, his voice sending shivers across Jack's skin. "You've got character."

"Character, huh?" Jack tried to reply wittily, but it only came out sounding feeble and winded, "I suppose I'll take what I can get."

The corner of Kozmotis's mouth perked up in a half smile, and he slowly leaned in. Jack didn't think he was hyperventilating, but he felt suffocated, and could hear blood pounding in his ears. Then, Kozmotis murmured something that Jack couldn't quite make out above all the noise.

"What?" he questioned. But Kozmotis had already tightened his grip on Jack's arm, and whisked him away. Jack readily allowed Kozmotis to drag him from the ballroom, the crowd hiding them from curious eyes.

The corridors were empty now. All the servants had returned to the kitchens, or retired for the evening. Jack listened to their footsteps reverberate off the stone walls and ceilings as they walked, Kozmotis never releasing his strong grip on Jack. Jack followed blindly, his awareness growing with each passing second.

"Where are you taking me?" He asked openly.

"A surprise," Kozmotis said simply. Jack wanted to ask more, but decided against it at the last moment, letting himself be guided. He was somewhat surprised to see that Kozmotis clearly knew his way around the palace, which only prompted Jack's curiosity even further. The intricate maze of hallways and corners was not easily navigated, but the general seemed to have no trouble with it.

Finally, they made a sharp right, and turned into a darker room. Jack knew every inch of the palace, and judging by the familiar musty smell, he guessed that they were in his old nursery. It had been ignored for years; sometimes it was used as storage, but not of late. Suddenly, Jack became suspicious, his eyes trailing over the slippery man before him. This room was personal, and was not easy to find without direction from someone who knew the estate well.

Kozmotis, unaffected by the darkness, gently released Jack and strolled into a corner, picking up something carefully. Jack was completely blind, and couldn't quite make out what it was. Kozmotis returned, stepping forward and holding the delicate package before him.

"For you," he said, "a gift."

Jack narrowed his eyes a little, displaying his distrust, but ended up taking the package. It was long and thin, containing something hard. To the best of his ability, Jack unwrapped the package, and held up whatever it was to the dim light of the moon streaming through the window. It appeared to be some kind of staff.

"What is it?" Jack asked, admiring the intricacy of the design on the handle.

"This, Jack, is the staff of Lunacroft," Kozmotis stated clearly. "My men and I had assisted the nation in battle, and when the war was won, they presented us with their most treasured artifact. The staff possesses an energy only known only to the extreme northern regions. It can manipulate the moisture molecules in the air and expel it as ice."

Jack ran his hand along the wood, following it with his fingers. It rounded off like a shepherd's staff at the top. Jack gripped it tight and swung it around. It was light and felt comfortable in his grip. As he did so, a small burst of blue ice particles shot from the tip, and Jack gasped. A surge of power coursed through him, making the nerves along his arm tingle with pleasure. A smile stretched across his face.

"It's…" he stammered, unsure of how to express his gratitude, gazing up at the staff in wonder. He didn't even hear Kozmotis walk up behind him in the shadows; so when Jack felt a gentle hand rest on his upper forearm, he inhaled sharply. Kozmotis leaned over until his lips were right next to Jack's ear, and he could feel his hot breath tracing the shell sensitively.

"Only the best for you, Jack," he murmured deeply. Jack's hair stood on end, and he held his breath in anticipation. He gripped the staff tightly for support, his knuckles turning even whiter. Oddly enough, something like fear crept into his mind. Fear of what exactly? Jack couldn't quite pinpoint what he was afraid of, but as he listened to Pitch's rhythmic breathing, it only seemed to grow in size. Anxiety licked at his emotions, threatening to eat him alive. Instinct told him to shift positions, perhaps move away from Kozmotis to exemplify his disinterest.

Only, Jack didn't want to.

"I, um… suppose we should be getting back now," Jack croaked unconvincingly. Kozmotis slid his hand down Jack's arm, taking his time running his long fingers across the fabric. He readjusted his head to rest on the back of Jack's, his forehead pressed to Jack's scalp. He felt the hand reach the end of his sleeve, and it began to gently caress the soft skin on the back of Jack's hand. Such a small gesture sent jolts of adrenaline pulsating through Jack's body.

"Yes I suppose we should," Kozmotis said, but didn't move. Jack couldn't deny that he enjoyed the feeling of being… held.

Yet, Jack hardly knew Kozmotis. He only just met him a few moments ago, which raised the question of why Jack was allowing the man to fondle him like this. Jack leaned into Kozmotis slightly, not too much to signify surrender, but not too little to imply he did not enjoy it. He heard Kozmotis purr deeply in the back of his throat, causing Jack's heart to slam into his ribcage.

Suddenly, various swirls of frost shot out of the staff, causing Jack to jump slightly. Startled, he released the staff, and it clattered to the floor. His trance broken, Jack leaned away from Kozmotis, who unwillingly released the grip on his hand. Kozmotis stepped back into the shadows, and Jack readjusted his dress robes awkwardly.

"Um…Thank you for the incredible gift, general," Jack thanked formally. He realized there were beads of sweat on his forehead, and he tried to wipe them away inconspicuously. Kozmotis bowed deeply, but Jack caught the hungry gaze rolling over Jack's body. Still slightly lust ridden, Jack blushed feverishly, thankful that the shadows concealed his face.

"You are very welcome Jack. Though, forgive me, I find that I am unwilling to let you go just yet. It would be an honor if, perhaps, you might join me in the gardens for a late night stroll?" Kozmotis offered alluringly, holding his hands out in an innocent gesture. Jack hesitated, still unable to identify where his suspicion was coming from, but he could feel it brewing...

"I… I'm not sure… I have other guests to attend to, general…" he explained. He knew deep down he didn't care about any of the other guests, but he was hesitant about whether or not he wanted to spend more time with Kozmotis.

"But none of your other guests are nearly as fun as me," Kozmotis replied with an evil grin, "What harm could a few more minutes do?"

Jack let a long, silent pause settle between them. He knew it sounded wrong, and he should turn around now while he still could. Jack had no idea what he was getting himself into. It would be much safer, and more practical to leave. He could only imagine what his family would think when they saw his empty chair in the ballroom.

Jack debated internally with himself for a few moments, before taking the general's hand. It still felt smooth and warm against his skin, which he had always been told was rather cold. Kozmotis delicately pulled Jack closer to him.

"Alright, but just a few more minutes…" Jack agreed.

"Excellent. But we're going to take a shortcut," Kozmotis said, squeezing Jack's hand, "it'll save time."

"What short-"

Jack was cut off midsentence as he felt himself being engulfed by something cold. His vision had gone dark, and he couldn't see. The air around him began to thicken as he was dragged back into it, suffocating him. Jack felt fierce panic claw at his insides, and he tried to scream, but he could make no sound. His senses were muffled and his body was being compressed by some outside force. Raw irrational fear attacked Jack like a wild animal, and it tore at his heart and lungs.

Just when Jack could bear no more of this crushing weight, his feet touched something solid, and his lungs filled with fresh air. He gasped and teetered on his heels, threatening to fall over. His head was spinning wildly. Kozmotis stepped forward and wrapped his hand protectively around the boy, keeping him from collapsing. Jack did not protest, seeing as he was hardly in a position to fight, and felt as if he were going to vomit.

"I should have warned you: Teleportation has its side effects," soothed Kozmotis. Jack's eyes widened as he sloppily turned to face the general.

"WHAT?" He declared, "D-did you say… you mean we j-just-"

Kozmotis said nothing as he waited for Jack to regain his composure. Jack took multiple deep breaths, trying to reorganize his jumbled thoughts and feelings.

Okay, he had just teleported. There was a first time for everything, he supposed. Even for things that weren't supposed to be possible…

"You can teleport," Jack stated patently. Kozmotis nodded. "So we just teleported."

"Give yourself a moment."

"That's impossible."

"Well obviously not, seeing as we just did it."

"But how?"

"Jack, you need to relax," Kozmotis pleaded, wrapping his arms around his torso, supporting his weight. Jack pressed a cool hand to his forehead, and closed his eyes.

"I'm alright." Jack lied, "I'm fine. You can teleport… yeah, okay sure. Why not?"

Jack's senses began to readjust, his vision correcting itself. Though, he did not calm down. He stepped forward, and Kozmotis released him, leaving Jack feeling suddenly empty. He shook his head, and began to slowly pace backwards.

"You're a general who I've never heard of, owns magical ice weapons from the north, and can teleport." Jack summarized in a slightly crazed tone.

"Jack…" Kozmotis said in a deep, reassuring voice. Jack turned, cutting his eyes at the man.

"Who the _hell _are you?"

At that moment, Jack heard something shift behind him. Though, before he could turn, he felt a large person seize him, and slam something over his mouth. Jack tried to scream, squirm, and kick as violently as he could, but it was no use. He clawed at the arms pinning him back, and struggled to breath beneath the meaty hand that held a cloth to Jack's lips. His eyes were wide as he focused all his energy on his attacker, but the more he fought, the weaker he became. He soon felt his limbs go numb with paralysis, and his eyes drooped in exhaustion. It was then that the man released him, sending Jack hurtling towards the ground. He hit the grass with a pathetic thud, and tried to sit up, only to be met with another wave of fatigue. The world before him began to spin once more, and Jack could taste colors. He groaned, holding out a hand in Kozmotis's direction. He managed to look up at the general, who was towering over him with a look of evil victory on his slim face, his eyes glittering with madness. He leaned over to stroke Jack's cheek, as Jack helplessly drifted into unconsciousness.

"I go by many names, young Lord." He hummed, "but I would prefer you call me Pitch."

Jack felt a small surge of defiance before he drifted off, letting darkness take over once more.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Runaway Lord!**

Lord Jackson Frost was reported missing Friday evening during the Luck estates cotillion. The dance, hosted by Lord and Lady Luck, was filled with various suitors, all hoping to win the hand of the young lord. Yet, anonymous sources divulged that Frost had negative connotations towards marriage. He thought of it as a form of subjugation, which leads ups to the theory that the boy ran off last night to avoid fulfilling his royal responsibilities. Several eyewitnesses said that the last person the boy was seen with was his sister, Lady Toothania. Others say he was socializing with a tall, dark, nameless stranger, who then led him away from the crowd. Though, few witnessed this, and evidence goes to show that it is highly unlikely that Frost was kidnapped. Did he run away, leaving his family distraught, all for the sake of his freedom? The Luck family has refused comment for this article.

A long smile stretched across Pitch's face as he read the article aloud. He lounged in his luxurious armchair idly, a fire roaring in the underground fireplace. The smoky scent had dispersed through the air, making the room smell musty. Pitch's tie had been lazily undone, and his vest unbuttoned. His jacket lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, next to his perfectly aligned shoes. His eyes glittered maliciously over the words on the paper, his happiness uncontainable. The fact that he had accomplished such a feat without _any _inclination that he had been at the cotillion was simply… delicious. Everything was going exactly to plan, and Pitch was in one of the best moods he had been in in years.

"It's too perfect," he laughed to his henchmen, who stood by the door with pleased expressions.

"We did well Sir," said Simon, "But it's been awhile since the frost boy has awoken. Should we be concerned?"

"No," Pitch waved off, "I will take care of that myself. Let him sleep. I must revel in our success awhile longer. The next phase of the plan will soon be put into action."

Pitch turned around in his chair, folding his paper neatly onto the table. He exhaled contently, before speaking. "Now, you two, return to your posts until I summon you."

The henchmen nodded and swiftly exited, one after the other. Pitch clasped his hands behind his head and sighed. Oh how wonderful it was that everything was going his way. The hard part was over.

Though, something picked irritably at the back of Pitch's thoughts. He tried to ignore it, and attempted to continue reveling in his triumph. But the voice kicked and shouted, demanding to be heard.

The boy. Jack… something about him put off Pitch's joyful accomplishment, and left him feeling confused. While seducing the boy, Pitch had successfully ignored his feelings. Feelings were dangerous for someone with his occupation, and he had learned to push them away for the sake of his job. They only made things more complicated then they needed to be. However, regardless of how troublesome his feelings were, Pitch couldn't deny that they were there, pricking away in the back of his brilliant mind.

The boy was different. Pitch hadn't expected him to be so confident. He had anticipated weak, unsure, and timid. But Jack hadn't been hesitant about his feelings when Pitch had attempted to lure him away. He almost seemed to give in too quickly, for Pitch had thought it would have taken much more convincing. The staff may not have even been necessary. Pitch found the boys assured attitude somewhat refreshing and he couldn't lie in saying, in the heat of the moment, there had been some… connection. Pitch sighed softly as he let his mind wander to the boy's soft, snow white hair that smelled like pine, and his striking blue eyes…

Pitch scoffed at himself, considering the ridiculousness of it all. He would go wake the boy now. Dreams and sleep were his specialty, and he was sure he could coax the boy from his unconsciousness. Of course, Jack would be violent and perhaps slightly crazed when he awoke, but then again they all were. Pitch smirked as he walked towards the door. He decided that Jack would be much more fun to torment then any of his previous captures.

* * *

Jack was alone, and he couldn't see. It felt like people were brushing past him, grazing the hairs on his arms and legs, but he couldn't tell if it was just his imagination. Uncontrollable panic arose from within him, spinning into hysteria. Jack began to hyperventilate as he attempted to maneuver through the darkness, holding his hands out in front of him clumsily.

"HELP ME!" He screamed, "I DON'T KNOW WHERE I AM! PLEASE HELP ME! PLEASE!"

His panic escalated as the creatures around him began to move faster. He whipped around, trying to find what was brushing past him in the shadows, but he was completely blind. Jack's reasoning was distorted, and his fear was maddening. It clawed at him, eating away at his soul. Jack grabbed his hair, attempting to ground himself. He was there. His body was still a tangible object, but he felt so alone, and so lost. The endless unknown lurked before him, yet he had nowhere to go.

"Please," he whimpered again, feeling tears sliding down his cheeks, his breathing shaky and loud. He crumbled to the floor, hiding his face inside his chest, jumping at every brush of whatever foreign object was out there. He didn't dare look up from his fetal position. He didn't dare face his fears…

Jack awoke, screaming. It was a single, drawn out cry that reverberated off the walls like an alarm. It pierced his own ears, and when he stopped, he could still hear ringing. Jack's chest heaved with desperation, and his eyes were wide, unwilling to blink. Sweat ran down his face, and had pooled on his pillows and sheets. All was quiet. The fear from his nightmare still seemed so real to him, and for a moment, he thought he was still there: still trapped in that infinite cage of darkness with those faceless creatures.

Then, Jack's eyes began to adjust. He saw small flickering candles running down walls, leading up to a grandiose bookcase that took up the entire far wall. A fireplace jutted out from amongst the books in the shelves, but there was no fire roaring in it comfortingly. The room was wide, with no windows, and an incredibly high ceiling. Jack suddenly took notice of the fact that he was, indeed, lying shirtless in a bed. The high posts held up the draping canopies of black cloth running down the sides. The sheets were soft and silky, crumpling in Jack's strangling grasp. Jack was never usually cold, but violent shivers that he could not control ran down his spine.

It was only then that Jack felt a presence beside him. He didn't want to look. The idea that it was the presence in his nightmare, circling him like he was prey, made Jack cry out in fear.

"Hush now," said the deep voice. It startled Jack, and he realized he was no longer in his dream. His gaze shifted to look at whoever was next to him. It was hard to distinguish him from the shadows, but Pitch's eyes could be seen from within the darkness, piercing and golden. Jack gasped, but he was still in too much shock to do anything. Pitch reached out a hand, and began to stroke Jack tenderly, the way a mother would comfort a child. He ran his fingers along Jack's spine, giving Jack something to feel that was real and grounding. Pitch's hands were soft and gentle as they roamed over Jack's bare shoulders and down his arms. Jack's breathing slowly returned to normal, and his eyesight fully adjusted. He could make out Pitch quite clearly now, reveling in the shadowy tint of his skin.

"It was only a bad dream," Pitch murmured, and Jack began to collect himself. He hadn't had a nightmare since he was a kid. After he had fought with his parents, he fell asleep crying, and visions of their death twirled around in his head. When he awoke, his mother was there to hold him as he apologized over and over.

But that was a long time ago…

"W-what am I doing here…?" Jack asked in a timid, yet gravelly tone. He was not home, that much he could see. Pitch continued to rub his back in small circles, and Jack had to admit that the warmth from his palms was nice. Though, he didn't let it show.

"Your body didn't respond well to the chloroform. It took a while for it to recuperate. After you fell asleep, I had my henchmen bring you here. You've been unconscious for 24 hours." He explained.

Jack stopped panting for a moment, his eyes widening in surprise. He turned to pitch, leaning away from his touch at the information. Pitch gently retracted his hand.

"I've been asleep… _here?_ for 24 hours?" Jack restated, "and you… y-you _drugged me?_"

Pitch smiled, and shrugged like kidnapping was an idle hobby.

"I didn't figure you would come willingly. They seldom do," he responded. Jack's jaw dropped.

"You… you didn't figure I-" he stammered, the words he wanted to say just out of reach. Pitch raised an eyebrow, as if questioning the boy's intelligence. Jack turned red.

"But the time for sleep is over. I suspect you've had enough rest to last you for a while." He continued, pushing himself off the bed. Jack grabbed his forehead with a cool hand, trying to make sense of it all. He had been kidnapped and unconscious for three days…

"Wha… What happened? The dance! My family," he spat out incoherently.

"Done. Gone," Pitch replied simply. Jack heard the words, but had difficulty processing them. He attempted to organize the rampaging questions cavorting through his head recklessly.

"Where am I?" Jack asked finally.

"My underground palace," Pitch explained with an extravagant wave of his arm. "Specifically: my chambers."

"Your chambers?" Jack asked, befuddled, "but… you kidnapped me."

Pitch sighed, as if answering to Jack repetitive statements was the most wearisome thing in the world.

"Yes," he answers languidly, "And?"

"So, why am I not shoved in a dungeon somewhere?" Jack asked suspiciously. Pitch turned to Jack with a scoff, looking amused, yet pleasantly surprised.

"Regardless of how you got here, I like to pride myself on hospitality. I will not have my guests thrown into dungeons. Where the courtesy in that? Unless, of course, you enjoy that sort of thing…"

Pitch turned to give Jack a suggestive look over his shoulder. Jack gritted his teeth, but swallowed hard and looked away. He felt irritation and anger swell inside him.

"Well, normally, when someone takes you for a _prisoner_, they don't consider hospitality a priority," jack pointed out with a sarcastic tone.

"Well Jack, you'll find I am hardly your average criminal mastermind," Pitch said lightly, "and I find my hostages cooperate much better under more relaxed circumstances."

"Well if you think sleeping in your bed is going to get me to cooperate, you've got another thing coming!" Jack snapped. Pitch didn't respond to this, but Jack assumed he was having a good laugh at the boy. He tightened his grip on the sheets, his knuckles whitening.

"Why?" Jack pressed, switching topics.

"Why what?" Pitch said softly.

"Why kidnap me?"

Pitch turned to face Jack, his hands clasped behind his back in a serious manner, his golden eyes ablaze.

"Ah, now we've reached the real questions," he nodded in approval, "well Jack, there is something I need… something very dear to me. I thought it was lost, and for years I suffered without it. Now, to my delight, it seems to have arisen again. Only, in the wrong hands…"

Pitch snapped his fingers dramatically, and a fire sprung up in the fireplace. Jack rolled his eyes, vaguely reminded of Jamie, and how he loved to show off. The memory brought a sharp pain to his chest. Would he ever see Jamie again? What about his family?

"I needed something to trade it for. Something valuable, and something I wouldn't have too much trouble acquiring. Luckily, my superior had a special request: you." Pitch explained.

"Me?" Jack repeated, aghast.

"I was just as surprised. I wondered what a boy of your age and minimal importance could offer," Pitch admitted. Jack bared his teeth in offense.

"I'm not-"

"Regardless, I followed my orders." Pitch rambled on, ignoring Jack's protests, "and once I make a deal, I never go back on it. Obtaining you was simply a matter of breaching the secure defenses around the estate. Once inside, it was too easy."

Jack's anger slowly morphed into horror as he listened to Pitch boast. His eyes widened and dropped down to his lap. He could feel his cheeks burning, and his entire being filled with self-loathing.

This was _his_ entire fault. Jack had allowed Pitch to lead him away from the watchful eyes of the guests and his guards. Pitch had convinced Jack - _seduced_ him was more like it- to follow him into the shadowy gardens. Jack could've told Pitch he wasn't interested. He should've returned to the party, where people could've kept watch over him. Then none of this would have happened…

Stressed, Jack ran his fingers through his hair, growling in frustration. His family was probably sick with worry at this point, and Jack had no one to blame but himself. He felt ill. Hearing Jack's growl, Pitch gazed at the boy over his shoulder, a lustful haze gleaming in his expression. Jack swallowed hard, trying to maintain a reasonable composure, but it was challenging.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Pitch said with mock sympathy, "I am known to be quite charming when I need to be."

"How did you get in, then?" Jack probed, compelled to drive the blame away from himself. Pitch paused, letting a quietness settle over the room. The snapping fire was homely, and lit up the once dark room with a comforting familiarity. Jack had many fireplaces back at the estate, though his parents never did let him have one in his room. Seeing as Jack was drawn to trouble like bees to honey, they figured that leaving him alone with fire was not the best idea.

"One of your party planners had carelessly tossed out a handful of the invitations to the cotillion," Pitch revealed. "My henchmen discovered them, and brought them back to me. A few touch-ups here and there, and voila! I became Kozmotis Pitchiner: A humble, yet prestigiously rich general."

Pitch gave Jack an analytical look, and Jack returned the stare, feeling a profound sense of… respect. Jack was beginning to realize how clever Pitch was, and how resourceful. It only made him all the more dangerous, but Jack couldn't help but admire him all the same. However, Pitch wasn't finished.

"I knew that, once inside, I would have to convince you to follow me out somehow. I took many precautions: the extravagant gift, my teleportation-"

"That's right!" Jack cried out, "You can teleport! Isn't that supposed to be, I don't know… _impossible_?"

Pitch's face scrunched in annoyance at being interrupted in the middle of his monologue, but Jack looked much too disturbed with the information for Pitch not to address it.

"I wasn't lying when I said I had been trained in combat. I _used_ to be a general for an army up towards the eastern side. We were small, but powerful. We didn't conquer, only protected. One of the skill sets we had to learn was teleportation through shadows, and it came in quite handy…."

Jack wondered if Pitch was lying; it was so hard to tell, seeing as his aura was always so enigmatic.

"You expect me to believe that you were… a general for an army, and now you're a washed up criminal?" Jack summed up, hinting at his suspicion. Pitch growled.

"Not that it's any of your business, you pesky boy. But yes, I expect you to believe every word, because it's the truth."

Jack crossed his arms, and gave Pitch an appraising look. His feelings about the man were conflicting, but Jack felt like bitterness was a reasonable emotion to fall back on.

"What did this… superior want me for?" he seethed. Pitch shrugged, unbothered by the question.

"I don't like to pry into the business of my betters. I'm smart enough to know that they usually prefer privacy. I merely do my job, get paid, and move on."

"So what, you kidnapped me without any background knowledge?" Jack yelled incredulously, "you call that smart? Don't you want to know the motive behind the work you do?"

"The only motive I need," Pitch snarled, "is payment. Trivial matters such as background knowledge are unimportant. The employer has something I want, and I intend to get it, regardless of what he wishes with the likes of you!"

"Oh really?" Jack retorted, "Then what is it?"

"What?" Pitch snapped.

"The item you're so interested in getting back! What is it?"

"That's none of your business!"

"Like hell it isn't, it's what I'm worth!" Jack argued. "What am I worth Pitch? What are you trading me for?"

Pitch whirled around and approached the bed in long strides. His face was twisted with animosity, and Jack felt that same flicker of fear rise in him before he quelled it.

"How dare you address me like that! Need I remind you who has the upper hand in this situation?" he shouted, "you are intruding on dangerous ground, Jack. I kidnapped you! You should fear me!"

"You don't deserve my fear, Pitch!" Jack snarled in response, "I'm not afraid of you!"

Shockingly enough, Pitch's wild composure distorted and became one that Jack could only describe as terrifyingly evil. The menacing smile that stretched across Pitch's face sent goose bumps running along Jack's skin, and he no longer felt so sure of himself.

"You'll wish you had never said that," he crooned. And before Jack could croak a protest, Pitch reached forward with his long arms and snagged Jack by the throat. Jack, taken aback by the surprise attack, clawed at the hand crushing his windpipe in a panicked manner. His eyes bulged from his head and his breath came in sharp, ragged bursts.

Pitch was much stronger than Jack had anticipated, what with him being so slim. He hoisted Jack up by one hand, and slammed him into the wall to the right of the bed. Jack felt the solid concrete smash into his skull, and his vision began to blur. A streak of pain ran from his temple to the nape of his neck, and he tried to cry out, but no noise from his mouth was audible anymore. Pitch's eyes reflected the lividness from within, and jack could faintly feel fear creeping back into him. The nightmare had left him vulnerable, he realized, because it was no ordinary nightmare. He recognized that Pitch must have manipulated it somehow to make him weaker.

Jack's feeble attempts of attack slowly ceased, and instead he mustered whatever strength he had left to try and pry the hands from his neck. Pitch began to laugh, but there was cruelty in his tone.

"Learn your place, Jackson Frost. And I would suggest you learn it quickly, or the consequences will be severe."

Jack's line of sight began to darken around the edges and he felt weak at the knees. Just when he thought he would surely pass out, Pitch abruptly released him. Jack slid to the floor, a coughing, sputtering, shaking mess. He massaged the raw skin around his neck and skull, still feeling the searing pain running along his temple. Pitch stood there, watching him regain composure and what little dignity he had left. Jack looked up through tear filled eyes, but said nothing.

"Let this be a lesson to you," Pitch continued, "and believe me, I've only scratched the surface. The things I could do to you, Jack…"

Jack used the wall behind him as support, pushing himself into standing, trying to stop his legs from quaking. He refused to meet Pitch's gaze, to which Pitch only chuckled again.

"All in due time I suppose. Perhaps a bit more sleep would do you some good…"

Jack's head snapped up at the idea of more nightmares. Pitch was enjoying watching him squirm, but jack couldn't help it. He had never been more afraid in his life.

"I have more business matters to attend to. I expect to see you out and about at 7 tomorrow morning. We are going to discuss the plan for departure. If you do not do as I say, the nightmares will only get worse. Just some food for thought."

It was then that Pitch gave Jack a bitter smile, before swiftly exiting the room, slamming the door behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack's eyes flew open and instinctively he clutched a hand to his chest and sat up. He racked his mind for any signs of fear that would indicate whether or not he had a nightmare. After a few moments, he realized that he had slept peacefully and without dream, which Jack was grateful for. Though, he realized he was still in Pitch's chambers, lying upon the same bed he had previously slept on. The fire was still roaring heartily, but from what Jack could tell, he was alone.

Jack wasn't scared of being kidnapped. The nightmare had been utterly terrifying, and Pitch wasn't all that pleasant, but Jack was hardly scared. He wasn't sure why, because he knew any normal person would be, but Jack felt more of a malcontent then a fear. He was curious, as well as concerned for his family back home. Were they worried? Had they started to look for Jack? He felt that same old guilt bubble and broil in his gut, making him twist in discomfort. He didn't purposefully get kidnapped, but did the world know that? Did anyone see Pitch willingly drag him off? Or did they think he abandoned his family because he didn't want to get married? Everyone knew what Jack thought of marriage, and that he had a perfectly good motive for running off. His head hurt and Jack felt his heart swell like a balloon.

Instead of dwelling on his anxious thoughts another minute, Jack swung around and walked towards the bookshelf that took up the entire opposite wall. He wanted a distraction; something to keep him occupied. Observing the array of novels that littered the shelves, it was obvious that Pitch liked to read. This was definitely not something Jack had expected in a criminal. Perhaps they're not all as barbaric and bulky as he had imagined. Though Pitch was obviously twisted enough, he was maliciously clever and slippery. Jack stood on his tiptoes to snatch a book from a higher shelf, sending a cascade of dust fluttering from the wood when he yanked it out. Jack coughed as he quickly brushed the surface and read the title:

_Encyclopedia of Mond Kniaso: War Laws and Recorded Trials_

Jack's eyes watered as his brows furrowed in interest. He carefully opened the front cover, wary of any more dust that drifted out. Jack could never recall being one for reading, what with all the playing outside and causing mischief. Sitting still was difficult, but considering the circumstances, Jack thought maybe learning about his enemy would give him an advantage. He would discipline himself.

He sat crisscrossed on the floor and skimmed the text hungrily. Jacks brain picked up names and dates that he did not recognize. Battles won and lost, prisoners cell numbers and recorded interrogations. Then, Jack came across two words that sounded oddly familiar to him:

_Golden Fleet_

Hadn't that been the army Pitch had been a general of? Excited at the recognition, Jack flipped to the index, skimming his fingers down the blurry lines of inky letters and numbers. When he found the number, he flipped back. The pages he landed on were covered in paintings of an army dressed in golden armor, riding atop their horses with prestige.

Jack read to his heart's content. The information about the fleet was existential. From what Jack could pick out, the golden fleet was just what Pitch had said: a league meant to protect innocent lives and aid those in war. They were from the east, where Jack had been raised, but were constantly moving across the globe and bringing about peace. They had special powers that made them more effective and more dangerous than any other army in the world. Though, some like teleportation through shadows were thought to be mythical. Then, the book began to drop off vaguely. It mentioned that the fleet began to break apart. It gave several reasons for it: the conflict between warriors, the power-hungry criminals becoming too aggressive, or the men's desire for home. It hardly touched on the subject, and that made Jack all the more curious. Pitch was the leader of the finest group of men to walk the earth, and now he was a criminal? Unless he was lying- which Jack thought to be a very likely answer- something else had gone wrong. Something big. And Jack was dying to know what. The fleet had actually existed, and as Jack read even further, he realized that the disappearance of the army happened within years of the ravaging war between the north and the south. Without their peacekeepers, the world appeared to have fallen into chaos.

Jack slammed the book shut at the sound of footsteps approaching the room. He scrambled clumsily to place the book back on the dusty shelf. The moment he shifted it in place, the door swung open. Jack awkwardly leaned against the bookcase, his hand scratching the back of his head. The man who had entered was the kind of man Jack would expect to be a criminal: large and muscular.

"Pitch is expecting you," the man said sternly, his eyes questioning Jack's suspicious posture. Jack pretended to yawn.

"So?" he said.

"So, I would suggest you humor him, and come with me," he man retorted sharply.

"… and what if I don't want to humor him?"

The man stood in the doorway a moment, looking at Jack like he was a grouchy five -year- old. Before Jack could react, the man swiftly bent over and grabbed Jack by the legs, ignoring his protests. He then proceeded to throw Jack over his shoulder in an undignified manner.

"HEY! Put me down!" Jack yelled childishly, but it did no good. The man strolled from the room, carrying Jack like luggage. Trying to struggle was pointless, for the man was just as strong as he looked. Jack felt ridiculous, but propped his elbows on the man's back in defeat, pouting stubbornly. The man hauled Jack down like he was lighter than a feather.

As Jack was carried through the halls of the underground palace, he took the opportunity to glance around at his new surroundings. Everything was just as dark and shadowy as Pitch's room, which Jack had expected. Pitch obviously like the dark. The ceilings were very high, with strong, concrete arches holding them above their heads. The architecture was simple, yet elegant, and everything contoured between black and grey. As Jack was lugged around various corners and hallways, he also observed how intricate the layout of the palace was. Mazelike in design, Jack found himself unable to map out the way back to Pitch's chambers after five minutes of walking. All the halls looked the same after a while. Finally, Jack heard a door open and he was thrown off the large man's shoulder. Before he could cry out, he hit something soft and cushiony. Jack looked around, taking in the new settings.

It resembled Pitch's chambers, minus the extravagant bed. Bookshelves covered most of the walls and a roaring fire warmed the room significantly. Jack supposed it got quite cold underground, not that he noticed. His eyes finally landed on Pitch, who was staring into space, tapping the pads of his fingers together in front of his face mysteriously. He appeared concerned, and deep in thought. His expression was unreadable, and he said nothing when Jack's presence was made known. Jack leaned back cautiously in the armchair. He was on his guard, seeing as the two had not parted on good terms. Jack thought back to Pitch's dominating grip pressing on his windpipe, and he rubbed the skin on his neck subconsciously. Pitch caught this movement, unfortunately, and he broke out into a grin. Lowering his hands from his face, Pitch addressed Jack.

"Glad to see you're less flippant with your tone this morning," he said. Jack scoffed under his breath, but didn't say a word. He watched Pitch intently, admiring the way the fire's light hit the angle of his cheekbones in contrast to the rest of his dark skin. Pitch stood gracefully from his chair, and began to pace.

"Seeing as you are on time, you will not be punished," he continued, "which is unfortunate. I was looking forward to... spending more time with you."

Pitch gazed over his shoulder suggestively at the boy, his eyes grazing over Jack's body hungrily. Jacks guard dropped instantly at the words, his face flushing with color. His teeth grinded together and he looked down into his lap.

"I… Y-you-" he tried to say, but his brain was muddled and hazy. Pitch laughed softly at Jack's reaction, which only made Jack even more defensive. This taunting was really starting to get under his skin.

"Oh Jack… young, innocent Jack," Pitch crooned, waving his hand around in the air as he walked towards Jack's chair, "you know, it really did surprise me how… willing you were to be wooed. I thought you would be a bit more resistant to my charm."

Jack looked up and rolled his eyes at Pitch, almost laughing.

"Your modesty is awe-inspiring," Jack snapped stubbornly, his gut still churning with nervous energy, "but I'm not sure if I would say I was 'wooed.'"

Pitch cocked his head to the side as he stopped right in front of Jack. He leaned forward, pressing his long fingers into the armrests, and staring Jack down. Jack bit the insides of his cheeks, and refused to meet Pitch's eyes. He knew the moment he did he would be caught in that same hypnotic trance, and he didn't want to give Pitch that satisfaction. But Pitch's hot breath on his cheek was very distracting. Jack's mind was reeling with confused, discombobulated thoughts.

"So much pride for someone so young," he murmured softly. "But I bet it wouldn't take long to break you."

Jack swallowed, and with as much courage as he could muster, he glared up at Pitch.

"I'd like to see you try," he said through bared teeth. Pitch huffed in amusement, taking a single finger and placing it under Jack's chin. He lifted it upwards, curiously studying the boy.

"Oh don't test me. I love a challenge."

Jack snarled, and jerked his head to the side stubbornly. But Pitch seemed to be plenty gratified in watching Jack squirm under his gaze. In response to Jacks movement, he placed a gentle hand on his cheek. Just as warm and comforting as Jack remembered, Jack looked up through the corner of his eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked suddenly. Pitch tsked.

"I already told you last night… weren't you listening?"

"No… why are you doing _this?"_ he repeated softly, as if to emphasis his question. He gazed up at Pitch, his own expression gentle and intrigued. Surprisingly enough, Pitch's cocky attitude wavered slightly. Jack wouldn't have caught it if he weren't so keen to Pitch's features. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and his lips turned downwards for a spilt second before he bit his tongue and turned away from Jack. Jack exhaled quietly, the tension building in his shoulders decreased immensely. And even though Pitch clearly understood what Jack was implying, he did not answer the question.

"Please eat. You must be starving." Pitch said seriously, and snapped his fingers. The same man who had hauled Jack in over his shoulder, carried in a large silver tray littered with food. Jack was about to say he really wasn't all that hungry, when he realized he hadn't eaten since that previous night. His insides suddenly felt hollow. The man set down the platter in front of jack, who decided it fit to give him an angry glare before devouring the food before him.

"Now, I had plans of departure this very morning." Pitch began to explain, "You were to be escorted out of my palace heavily guarded, and secretly board a transport that would take you south of here. I discussed my plan with my superior yesterday evening."

Jack's eating slowed as he listened carefully, not scared, but rather interested in Pitch's plans for him.

"But my superior is aware that your disappearance may have caused a… disturbance. Apparently, people are looking for you. Numerous people. It would be much too dangerous by our standards to move you in this environment."

Jack stopped everything he was doing at these words, placing his utensils back on the tray. His hope soared. People were looking for him. So many that Pitch couldn't carry out his plan. Jack had to refrain from smiling at this news, so he bit his tongue so hard it bled.

"This annoying bout of news puts us off schedule. My superior has insisted that you remain hidden here until it is a wiser time to move. Three weeks' time should be long enough."

Jack's jaw dropped in disbelief.

"Three weeks?" he cried. Three weeks in Pitch's palace, with Pitch. Pitch wheeled around looking annoyed.

"I can assure you I don't like the idea either. But I have little choice. It is what my superior suggests, and I agree wholeheartedly. It would be foolish to move you in these conditions."

"But isn't three weeks a little… extensive?" Jack tried tentatively.

"Apparently, there are an extensive amount of people searching for you."

Jack tried not to sigh with relief. Instead, he put on a blank face, and remained silent. Pitch cut his eyes at the boy, testing him, but Jack gazed at him innocently.

"Don't get your hopes up," he growled menacingly, looking right through Jack, "and don't you dare try anything funny. I have you here for three weeks, Jackson Frost, and I can make them the worst three weeks of your life."

Jack acknowledged the threat, but was feeling much more confident now that he knew people were searching for him. He had a chance of being rescued, and three weeks to figure out how to escape. Jack was clever enough. He just had to figure out his way around the palace, which could certainly be done with the amount of time he'd be spending there. On the outside, Jack simply nodded, but he could see Pitch didn't buy it.

"I won't," he lied. Pitch cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms. Jack swallowed hard.

"Just to be safe, I'm placing extra security around your room," he stated blatantly. Jack felt his hopes diminish significantly. "Except for meals, you will not be allowed beyond the four walls of my chambers."

"But," Jack said, cognizant, "if I'm staying in your room, where will you be?"

Pitch rolled his eyes, but answered.

"If it's so important for you to know, I will be in my library. I hardly sleep, young lord, for it is a waste of my time."

"Surely you get tired?"

"No, not really. And unless you wish for me to join you in my bed, I don't think you should object," Pitch retorted with ease.

Jack had to learn how to stop blushing.

"If you are quite finished, I must send you back. I have work to do, and you are in my way." He said. Jack immediately stood, brushing off the front of his shirt with dignity. The large man entered the room once more, and crossed his arms intimidatingly. Jack held up a hand firmly, as to say that he could escort himself out. The man shrugged and opened the door for him.

"Oh, and Jack?" Pitch cut in. Jack turned around to find Pitch unexpectedly breathing down his neck. He held a hand to his heart, alarmed.

"You need to stop doing that," Jack said firmly, despite their sudden closeness.

"Doing what?" Pitch played.

"You know what. Stop it." He snapped. Pitch bit his bottom lip and chuckled.

Then, he grabbed Jack roughly from behind, slamming their bodies together swiftly. Jack could feel the defined muscle beneath Pitch's shirt and hear his heartbeat from in his chest. Pitch leaned down to whisper something in Jack's ear.

"You never know. One night, I may find myself so exhausted that I will crave my own bed."

Jack's mouth opened slightly as he let himself become overridden with want.

"Shame I'll be in it already," he flirted.

"Oh I hope so."

And without another word, he shoved Jack out the door.


	6. Chapter 6

Jack was bored, and that was a light way of putting it. He had forced himself to read as many books on the shelves as he could possibly manage, but after a while he could feel his brain turning to mush. His entire body was quaking with pent up energy, and he could hardly sit still for more than a few minutes. Amongst the many books Jack had skimmed, the golden fleet was never mentioned again; this was peculiar seeing as the encyclopedia had made them sound quite famous and well known. Jack had a suspicious hunch that Pitch may have purposefully attempted to rid his palace of any book that mentioned them. Jack must have gotten lucky and stumbled across the one he had carelessly missed. The rest of the books consisted of useless knowledge that Jack could care less about. It was sad, really, seeing as he had only been a conscious prisoner in Pitch's underground palace for two days. How on earth was he going to hold out for three whole weeks?

Jack lay on his back and stared up at the ominously high ceiling, his lungs feeling heavy and dry. The lack of fresh air was also starting to get to him, but he knew Pitch would never let him out of the palace under any circumstances. He wouldn't be seeing sunlight again for a while. The thought made him nostalgic, but Jack pushed the feeling away.

What Jack truly wanted, more than anything, was to explore the palace. It was so grandiose, and filled with thousands of halls and rooms to explore. Who knew what was hidden in this place? But he knew Pitch would never allow it. Not only had Jack been considerably rude to him, but he was, after all, Pitch's prisoner; a fact he was eager to forget. Though, Jack knew escape was hardly an option. He didn't even know where he was exactly, just in an underground palace that could be anywhere on the planet. Who knew how far Pitch could teleport.

He sat up suddenly, narrowing his eyes at the thought of Pitch. He felt a sudden surge of rebellion. Jack's gut twisted and he pursed his lips decisively.

"I'm going to sneak out… tonight," he whispered to himself. His own hushed tone bounced around the walls eerily. Jack wasn't sure how he was going to do it. He didn't even know why he wanted to. If Pitch found out…

Bollocks, Jack thought. Who cares if Pitch finds out? He may have Jack captive in his home, but Jack wasn't going to sit back and just accept it. He refused to give Pitch the satisfaction that he relished so much.

Tonight, he thought again, and I'll be back here before Pitch even notices I'm missing.

* * *

Darkness in the palace was unlike any darkness Jack had ever experienced before; and to be frank, it terrified him. When his lanterns weren't lit, it was almost like the dark was a living, breathing monster, curling its tentacles around everything it could find. Jack felt and heard things in the dark that reminded him of his nightmare, so much that he hadn't gotten much sleep since he awoke 48 hours ago. But tonight, Jack gritted his teeth, and bravely threw back his sheets. He was breathing heavy as he ran to each lantern, lighting a match to spark each one. Once the room was thoroughly lit, Jack could breathe easy again, but he knew that the palace would be just as dark, simply because Pitch liked it that way.

"Pitch doesn't sleep though," Jack reminded himself. He would have to be careful.

Jack had to yank at the rusty lanterns for a solid three minutes before it finally sprung free of the wall with a crunch. Debris scattered about, making Jack cough. He smelled mold and mildew as he waved it away.

Slowly, Jack turned towards the door. Of course it was locked, what kind of idiot wouldn't lock up their prisoner's? Jack held the lantern up to the lock and peered through it. He silently wiggled the handle, unsure if there were guards outside his door or not. Pitch had said he wanted extra security placed around the boy's room, so Jack assumed that there were. The lock seemed all too secure as he messed with it. It didn't feel like an ordinary door lock… It felt like extra locks had been used to keep it shut tight. Jack exhaled, frustrated. He wasn't sure what he had expected: maybe something brittle enough that he could kick open, or maybe melt.

Jack ran his fingers through his white hair as the cold began to tickle at his bare legs. There had to be something in the room he could use. If he lit a book page on fire and burned the metal a bit, would it be pliable enough to snap open? Slowly, Jack placed his index finger inside the lock, testing the intricacy and security of the lock, when his flesh caught on something sharp.

"OUCH!" Jack cried out, retracting his now bleeding finger. He growled under his breath.

Suddenly, Jack heard something shift in the shadows that the lanterns light did not touch. He froze, his body tensing in fear. He looked around the room, but there was nothing there that he could see. Jack's breathing had stopped all together as he held the lantern away from the door to examine the room.

Then, he heard it again; in the corner by his bed where Pitch had left Jack's jacket, a little flutter like the page of a book being turned. It was soft, but very obvious to Jack's careful ears. He forced his hands not to shake as he moved towards the sound.

"Hello?" He whispered. No response, only more fluttering. Jack felt adrenaline pouring through him like rushing rapids, and he licked his dry lips. Slowly, he set the lantern down on the floor and approached the corner cautiously, his hands extended defensively. He jumped a bit when he saw his jacket move while lying on the dresser.

And out of his pocket flew something so fast that Jack had to whip around to see what it was.

"Ice Pick!" he exclaimed, exhaustively relieved. He laughed a bit, the tension built up in his muscles beginning to ease. The small, blue fairy buzzed in the air, staring at him curiously. Jack had completely forgotten she had been in his jacket pocket when he had been kidnapped.

"Oh god Ice Pick, I'm so sorry! How long were you in there?"

The fairy whizzed around his person in excited circles, clearly as happy to be out as Jack was to see her. Jack smiled, feeling truly happy for the first time in two days.

"Boy am I glad to see you!"

The small, cold fairy tilted her head to the side as she perched on Jack shoulder invitingly. She nudged her small body against his chin.

Then, Jack had an idea. He held up his hand and allowed the fairy to crawl into it. He then held her up to eye level.

"Can you do something for me?" Jack asked seriously. Ice Pick stared at Jack with her wide eyes, listening attentively.

Jack walked over to the keyhole in the door to his room, and held the small fairy up to compare sizes. It was a tight fit, but he had faith that she could do it.

"Ok… so I need to you climb through this keyhole, and pick the lock. I know its small, but I think you'll just fit…"

Ice pick shot out of his hand and hovered before him, crossing her small arm-like wings. Jack was faintly reminded of his reprimanding mother.

"Oh come on please? I'm being held hostage here!" he pleaded, "I won't do anything rash! I just want to have a quick look around. I'll be back here before Pitch notices anything."

The fairy hovered in the air for another moment or so, giving Jack an appraising look, before darting into the keyhole. Jack grinned as he knelt down to listen for that familiar click. Ice Picks wings hummed through the wooden door, tickling Jack's ears as he waited.

And then, the lock shifted. Jack's eyebrows shot up as he tentatively tried the doorknob. It opened.

"Ice Pick, come on!" he hissed. The fairy jammed her way out of the small keyhole, and fluttered anxiously by his ear as he pushed the door away.

It creaked subtly as Jack tiptoed across the floor, hardly making a single sound.

He almost gasped when he saw that there were indeed, guards outside his room. Fortunately, he caught himself when he saw that they were fast asleep, hunched against the walls, and snoring. To refrain from laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, Jack bit his tongue, and crept on the balls of his feet around the guards. One shifted suddenly, and Jack froze, but he only readjusted his position and continued to sleep. Jacks sweat prickled his scalp as he finally managed to move past them.

The entire palace was terrifyingly dark, and reminded Jack of a haunted mansion. Jack squinted his eyes in suspicion as he peaked around each corner carefully. Each hallway looked exactly like the last, luring him into a never ending maze of shadows. Ice Pick fluttered along nervously, the humming of her wings giving Jack small comfort.

"Pitch sure does like to show off," he murmured to himself as he craned his neck to stare upwards. He still felt like he could hear whispers floating from the darkness like ghosts. Jack pursed his lips nervously, but pressed on, intrigued.

As Jack turned yet another corner, he found that, to his relief, this new hall was unlike the others. Doors as high as the ceilings themselves ran along the walls up to the point where the shadows swallowed them. Jack treaded lightly on the balls of his feet as he approached one curiously, admiring the handiwork of the detail etched onto the oak. The knobs were dusty, and Jack's hands had a difficult time grasping them as he tried each one. Then, he found one that turned easily in his grip. It made an unfortunate creaking noise to which Jack cringed. He gently eased the door open the rest of the way, and without any more noise, he crept inside.

Jack was actually surprised when he saw the fire lit in yet another fireplace. It shed light on everything that was otherwise dim and daunting, and Jack's eyes widened in wonder as he looked around.

He was in some kind of library, which was a modest way of looking at it. The room seemed to have no roof, for the bookshelves rose up beyond the point of perspective. Jack smiled astonishingly as he twirled in circles, the covers to millions of books flashing before his eyes. He laughed softly.

"Pitch sure does like to read, huh?" Jack said to Ice Pick, amazed. Again, Jack wasn't really one for reading, but the way the room was crafted was stunning. Jack's eyes never trailed from his surroundings as he walked forward, only to have his thoughts interrupted by something hard. Jack had run into an armchair.

"Ow!-" he cried out before slamming a cold hand over his own mouth. The moment he tore his eyes away from the bewildering room, they landed on Pitch, who lay sleeping peacefully, a book pressed to his chest. Jack removed his hand slowly as he cocked his head, and smiled mischievously.

"Oh yeah, he_ definitely _doesn't sleep." Jack mocked, "it's such a waste of time."

Jack knew it would be better to leave while he still could. Pitch would surly have him thrown into a dungeon if he awoke and found the boy standing there. But to be frank, Jack didn't really care. His adventurous spirit took charge, and he stayed put, watching the grey man sleep. Pitch looked so content, his expression soft. Jack found himself starring, unable to look away. Old thought brewed to the surface of his mind…

He liked Pitch.

He scowled at himself for the idea, and attempted to tuck it away again. This was not the time for sentiment. Jack turned his back on the sleeping man as he rubbed his fingers on his temple. But it was useless. Incessant even… The thought of the cotillion… Pitch had held Jack, and touched him tenderly. No one had ever held him like that. Of course he was a virgin, but even more than that, Jack had never been touched in such a… tempting manner. Nor had he ever felt this way about anyone before. Not even Jamie…

Pitch may have been playing him the whole time, but to say that the entire thing had been an act would be preposterous. Pitch was too good of an actor not to let some of his true self leak through. Pitch felt something towards Jack, and Jack knew it. But Pitch was definitely more reluctant to admit such things. The man admitted to have kidnapped several people before, so why was Jack any different? Jack silently gritted his teeth. He was being stupid, and he knew it. But that didn't stop him from what he was feeling. Pitch grazing his hands over Jack's skin, or his hot breath rushing over the shell of Jack's ear. Jack closed his eyes, and could faintly make out the sound of Pitch's heartbeat from when he had him pressed against his torso. He sighed.

"And exactly what do you think you're doing?" came a menacing voice from behind. Jack froze, his eyes widening. His mouth turned upwards in a small, nervous smile.

"Um… I couldn't sleep?" he tried, flinching at his own excuse. There was no way he was going to get out of this one. He cleared his throat slightly, but did not dare turn around.

He couldn't hear Pitch moving until he was right behind the boy, his breathing uneasy from being awoken. Jack had to admire Pitch's stealth.

"So you decided to come bombarding into a place where you are not welcome," Pitch said with composure, but Jack could hear the danger lurking underneath it, "Bad move, Jack."

Jack tried to focus on his own breathing, but it wasn't working.

"I didn't know this was… I mean-"

"Don't bother me with useless excuses."

"I'm sorry," Jack croaked, his throat dry. He wasn't really, but he would have to play Pitch's game if he wanted to get out of here in one piece. He hung his head, his snow white hair falling into his eyes.

No response. Tense silence rolled off Pitch like waves, and Jack was holding his breath, waiting nervously.

"Oh, Jack…" Pitch tsked, "what am I going to do with you?"

"… Take me back to my room?" Jack baited hopefully, at which Pitch laughed richly.

"After all that I've given you, and you throw it away so carelessly. Don't you think there should be some punishment?"

Jack scoffed incredulously at this, brewing up enough courage to turn and face the man. It was a terrible idea. Jack could feel his legs go weak as he gazed up at Pitch's powerful presence, but he pushed the words from his mouth anyways.

"You locked me up and keep me imprisoned in that stupid room!" he said, "I wasn't trying to escape. I only wanted to have a look around, that's all. I don't think I should be punished for my curiosity."

"Just because you are _here_, Frost, doesn't give you the right to snoop. I am going to repeat, you are a PRISONER! I am already bending the rules by letting you off so easy, but having you freely strut about in _my palace_? And to enter my private study nonetheless!"

"I didn't know it was your study." Jack repeated. Pitch leered at him unbelievingly.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't give you the worst nightmare that you've ever had right now!"

Jack swallowed, racking his brain for something to say.

"Because… because I…" he stammered, trying to concoct something, when he looked up. His eyes trailed across Pitch's lips, and at that moment, something much unexpected popped into Jack's head. Jack could feel those lips moving across his sensitive skin, warm and lustful. Tender, raw kisses showered across his body. He blushed profoundly, and looked away, trying to finish his sentence.

"Because I didn't mean-"

"You're blushing." Pitch interrupted, his tone questioning.

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"No." Jack tried to hide his face but Pitch whipped out an elegant hand to snag Jack's chin. He reeled it back towards him. He leaned forward so their faces were incredibly close. Jack could smell the smoke from the fire clinging to Pitch's skin. Those stupid golden eyes…

"You know what Jack?" Pitch whispered, "I think you're happy to be here."

Jack looked at Pitch, amused.

"Oh really?" he said, "and why is that?"

"Because I saved you," Pitch retorted, "I saved you from that terrible fate... _marriage._ You hated the idea so much that you would rather be here as a prisoner."

Jack growled at Pitch, which only made Pitch drag him in closer, a small smile playing on his lips. Jack refused to say anything, because he was secretly wondering if it was true. Had Pitch saved him from marriage?

"Fight it all you want, Jack, but you know I'm right. I was the only one who understood your pain."

"You don't understand anything," Jack snapped, trying not to let Pitch's words get to him. Pitch rolled his eyes.

"Don't I?" Pitch hushed, and he pressed Jacks body completely against his own torso, leaning his head down so he could lock eyes with the boy. Jack was starting to feel angry towards Pitch: angry for pointing out something that couldn't be true. Jack hated the prospect of marriage, but to choose Pitch over his own family? He wouldn't…

Would he?

"No," Jack responded, "because everything you told me back there was a lie. It was an act to get me to come with you."

"You're not stupid Jack," Pitch said, punctuating each syllable, making the words perfectly clear. "You're well aware that most of what I said back there was very true."

Jack shook his head, glaring at Pitch through narrowed eyes, but said nothing. He wanted to shout at Pitch, make him take back what he said, because it couldn't be true. Jack refused to believe it. He simply shook his head, unable to think through his haze of frustration.

The last thing Jack saw was Pitch's cocky smirk, before he felt a pair of warm lips pressed against his neck. Jack gasped at the unexpected contact, his face flushing instantly. Pitch nipped at the skin hungrily, making Jack cry out in opposition. Pitch ignored him. He proceeded to plant succulent, eager kisses all along Jack's neck and jawline, his impatience clearly growing with each passing minute. His hands clasped behind Jacks small, yet muscular figure, yanking him so that his entire body was constrained to Pitch's. Jack could feel each crease in muscle beneath Pitch's robes, as he leaned his neck back, allowing Pitch better access. Pitch purred in appreciation. Jack's eyes were wide, his mouth open and panting.

"You know Jack, I was mildly impressed when I first met you," Pitch muttered against Jack's skin, sending shivers up his spine. Jack could feel Pitch slowly moving his hands down his back to gently rest on his ass. Jack inhaled sharply when he felt the sudden change of pressure, and Pitch lifted his head from between Jack's neck and collarbone.

"and it takes a lot to impress me."

Jack stared up at the grey man, unable to form words. Pitch's hands were very distracting, and Jack tried to move backwards so Pitch would release his hold. But this time, Pitch did not. Instead, when Jack attempted to step away, Pitch constrained him even further. Jack never failed to be surprised at how strong Pitch really was.

"Going somewhere?"

Jack didn't have time to respond before Pitch slammed his lips onto Jacks. Not that Jack could've said anything anyways. He felt hot as Pitch leaned into him, greedily, making Jack very turned on and… well, hard.

"Pitch, I-" he tried to say, but Pitch took the opportunity to slip his tongue into Jacks open mouth. Jack practically melted as he became attuned to Pitch's roaming tongue grazing over his teeth. It was a good thing Pitch was supporting him, because Jack was slowly letting himself succumb into a pool of pleasure. He moaned into Pitch's mouth, letting the warmth of his lips mold into his own.

Suddenly, Pitch retracted, crying out in pain. Jack could feel chills immediately seize him as Pitch's warm body pulled away, and he had never felt so cold_._ Dazed, he tried to figure out what the issue was. Why had Pitch stopped kissing him?

Then, Jack saw Ice Pick pinching at Pitch aggressively. Pitch tried to swat her away, but she would only zip around and find another patch of skin to nip. Pitch yelled in frustration.

"Ice Pick!" Jack cried out, drawing her attention away. He immediately flew to Jack's side, perching on his shoulder. She looked at Pitch with loathing in her large eyes. Pitch was rubbing his tender skin irritably.

"What the bloody hell is that?" he said through gritted teeth.

"A snow fairy," Jack explained carefully. "I got her at the cotillion… she, uh, must've stowed away in my jacket…"

Jack massaged the back of his neck awkwardly, feeling the place where Pitch had bit it. Pitch pulled down his robe in a dignified manner, regaining his composure faster than Jack would have liked. Jack on the other hand, was still filled with lust, and wasn't sure his erection had gone down yet. His lips felt raw and tasted like Pitch.

"I don't approve of stowaways," he said coldly.

"She won't cause any trouble. She was only protecting me," Jack defended.

Pitch looked at the pair of them emotionlessly, hiding beneath his professional composure. Jack's head was filled with noise and color, drunk off his own want.

"Leave now… while I still allow it," he rumbled, turning back to his armchair without a second glance. Jack's jaw dropped. He didn't know what he had expected but… he wanted Pitch to keep kissing him. Of course, he was much too dignified to say so, so Jack turned on his own heels.

"Come on Ice Pick," he said before grabbing at the brass knob once more, unwillingly leaving Pitch on his own, to brood on his inner thought.


	7. Chapter 7

Jack wasn't very hungry, he noticed, as he stared at the plate of food sitting before him. His appetite had mysteriously vanished as he watched Pitch from a few feet away. He was sitting casually in the exact same armchair, reading the paper with eager intent, almost like he was expecting news of his criminal activities to be announced. Completely absorbed in the words, Pitch neglected to look at Jack, much less acknowledge his existence. Though, Jack didn't mind so much. After last night, he was surprised that Pitch had allowed him to come down from his room at all. Jack had been mentally preparing himself for the worst, or at very least the dungeons. He decided it would be better not to fall asleep in case Pitch kept his promise about the nightmares, which Jack was not too keen to test. But from the way Pitch was acting, it was as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred at all last night. The kiss had never happened.

As grateful as Jack was for Pitch's leniency, he couldn't help but be a small bit frustrated with the man. The same words from last night's conversation flitted in and out of Jack's head: _I think you're happy to be here… I was mildly impressed when I first met you…_Those wandering hands, soft lips, the warmth of their bodies pressed together, sheer lust rolling over the pair of them in waves of ecstasy. Jack wasn't sure whether he was mad at Pitch for what he had said, or overjoyed with what they had done. All he knew was that he enjoyed Pitch's touch more than he should.

Jack supposed that he had drifted off at some point, because the next thing he knew, Pitch was clearing his throat and Jack was brought back to reality. His cheeks felt flushed. He felt the overwhelming urge to ask Pitch what he was thinking, but decided better of it. Instead, he asked a much more anticipated question.

"So…" he began, "are you going to punish me?"

Unprepared for the forwardness of Jack's approach, Pitch turned his head, and dropped the paper down into his lap. Jack swallowed when he saw that same playful smirk creep onto Pitch's face.

"Why do you ask?" he hummed, "do you want to be punished?"

"I… no …Stop that! Just answer the question!" Jack demanded through gritted teeth, frustrated. Pitch laughed.

"Maybe, or maybe not. Maybe I like keeping you on your toes, Jack Frost. One evening you might find yourself dreaming peacefully, only to be smothered by nightmares. Who knows?"

Jack felt those same tendrils of fear curl around his heart before squeezing it painfully.

"You're terrible," he wheezed.

"I know," Pitch agreed, "but it's about time you started to fear me. You clearly have yet to understand the position you're in."

"I've already told you, you don't scare me Pitch," Jack countered. Pitch's golden eyes roamed over Jack's figure, clearly unbelieving of Jack's claim. Jack balled his hands tensely, his knuckles itching to punch Pitch in the face. They stayed like that for a moment or two: Pitch casually looking over Jack curiously, and Jack biting back the harsh words he wanted to say. He felt more conflicted then he had ever felt. He wanted Pitch to kiss him again, but Jack also wanted to prove to him that he was no child. He wanted to show Pitch how powerful he was, and that maybe he deserved more respect than he had been getting lately. He was no one's prisoner, and he certainly wasn't going to go running just because Pitch told him he should.

Leaning back in his chair, Pitch placed a finger on his lips. The reaction was almost instant; Jack's defensiveness fell away to reveal a much more vulnerable side as his mind was drawn back to the kiss, yet again. It was a subtle movement, but Pitch was all about nuances, and he was using the situation to his advantage. He was playing the boy like a finely tuned instrument, bending his emotions with the wave of his hand. Jack squirmed in his seat.

"I don't need to scare you to have the upper hand here, Jack." Pitch crooned, "But fear puts people in their place. It protects them. A healthy dose of fear might be just what you need."

His voice deepened richly, and Jack bit the inside of his cheek. His own blue eyes flickered upwards, his vision slightly covered by the white hair falling in his face.

"You're careless," Pitch pressed on, "you're reckless, and you have no regard for rules. You went wandering about the castle last night like it was some sort of game. Do you have any idea what's hidden down here? What horrors parade through the darkness? You got lucky, finding my study on your first try. I'm hardly the most dangerous thing down here. You could have been hurt, or even worse killed, Jack! Then, my entire operation would have been compromised!"

Jack immediately scowled.

"So nice to hear what my safety means to you," he snapped. "But to be frank, I don't care about your stupid operation. I never asked to be the bargaining chip in this deal you've made."

"Regardless," Pitch said, waving Jack's comment away like it was a pesky fly, "your life could have been in danger! If you feared me, like you should, then none of what happened last night would have happened!"

Jack felt somewhat hurt at Pitch's words, but shook the feeling off.

"Well," he said softly, "as I said before, I don't fear you. And maybe I'm better off dead, if your operation is all that matters to you. That would put a bit of a damper on your plans, wouldn't it?"

Suddenly, Pitch leaped forward from his chair. He marched over to Jack, and grabbed his arm violently. Jack could feel the edges of Pitch's nails digging into his skin. Jack cried out, but Pitch held fast.

"Don't you DARE talk like that in front of me!" He snarled with his face filled with anger, and perhaps a touch of fear. "Don't you dare!"

"Why not?" Jack fired back, slowly losing feeling in his arm. His breathing was short and jagged, and the edges of his vision began to turn black.

"If you ever even _think_ about killing yourself, I will personally see to it that your entire family is put through hell." He growled in response. Jack's eyes widened, that precious fear rearing its ugly head.

"You… you wouldn't…"

"Watch me," Pitch whispered, realizing Jacks arm with a jerk. Jack immediately began massaging the raw broken skin. It throbbed painfully. Jack was use to Pitch's threats, because they were a daily thing. But this… this was a new low for Pitch. He could do whatever he wanted with Jack, but Jack would never forgive himself if his family was dragged into this.

"And to address your ignorant remark," Pitch continued, staring down at the boy, "of course my operation is all that matters to me. I am a practiced criminal mastermind, and I don't bother myself with anything other than my work."

Jack noticed that Pitch sounded like he was reassuring himself of this, rather than trying to convince Jack.

"Then what do you call last night?" Jack retorted wildly, his dignity wounded. "because that sure as hell wasn't work."

His words left Pitch speechless. They stood there, their chests heaving with anger, but nothing much to say. Pitch bared his teeth, and stared lividly at the boy, but Jack was equally as frustrated, and stared back with resentment. The fire simmered in the pit, and little sparks flew around in the smoke, adding to the eeriness of the silence. Then, Pitch raised a steady hand.

It came down on Jack's cheek so hard that Jack went numb. He gazed up at the man, unsure of what had happened, when the pain suddenly sprung through his face.

"Ow!" He cried, clutching a hand to his now pulsating cheek. Pitch pointed a finger at the door without breaking his gaze from Jack.

"Get… Out…" he murmured dangerously. His tone took Jack by surprise, and he felt his insides shatter with disappointment. At the same time however, Jack felt more anger than he had ever experienced in his life. Teary eyed from the pain, Jack slowly stood and walked calmly to the door. His eye felt like it was swelling shut, and he couldn't move his left facial features, but he needed to uphold what he had said. He wasn't afraid of Pitch, no matter how much pain the man caused him. So Jack made sure to stand up straight as he turned the knob, and exited the room, withholding as much of his pride as he could muster.

* * *

"What?" Jack yelled at the man entering his room, "What do you want?"

The redness in Jack's cheek had gone down significantly since that morning, mainly because Ice Pick had been resting on top of it to help the swelling. Her cold body temperature eased the pain and brought the feeling back to Jack's face. But as he sat up, he still felt that same rage and hurt rushing through him dangerously. The thick, bulky man who had entered the room was the same one that Jack was so familiar with. He looked at Jack like he was bored, and it irritated Jack to no end. Jack was in pain and the emotionless aura of this man only made him angrier.

"Pitch has requested you. He wishes for you to come down to his study."

Jack paused a moment, letting the words sink in, and then he laughed heartily.

"Are you joking?" he cried, "no way in hell! I want nothing to do with him!"

The man raised an eyebrow, and sighed.

The next moment, Jack was kicking and squirming as he was, yet again, tossed over this man's shoulder. Ice Pick attempted to pinch the man the same way that she had attacked Pitch, but his skin was so thick and tough that he hardly reacted. He slammed the door behind them before the little snow fairy could follow Jack into the hall.

After fighting for a few minutes, Jack simply gave up. He felt too tired and too upset to care anymore as was carried like a sack of flour down the same familiar hallways.

"I don't want to talk to him," Jack said to the man, "He's a vile prick, and I hope he goes to hell."

The man was unresponsive to Jack's insults, but Jack continued to talk.

"I mean, the man kidnaps me, and then has the nerve to treat me like a naïve child. And then he kisses me, only to deny it had ever happened! Who does he think he is?"

They entered the study, but Jack wasn't quite finished.

"I'm so sick of him. I'm done. I refuse to indulge him any longer… ridiculous, big-headed twat…"

"You wouldn't happen to be talking about me, would you?" said that familiar voice that sent thrills through Jack, and made his heartbeat quicken. He felt himself thrown off his carriers back and onto the floor. Jack landed with a thud, and groaned, massaging the back of his neck.

"I meant every word," Jack mumbled, shaking as he got to his feet.

"I'm sure you did," Pitch said softly. Jack turned and found Pitch staring at him thoughtfully, "how's the face?"

"It's been better," Jack snapped, brushing off his pants and crossing his arms tightly. "Now what do you want Pitch? You're kind of the last person I want to see right now."

Pitch gave Jack a small smirk and nodded understandingly. Jack eyed the man with suspicion, but said nothing.

"Jackson Frost, I have called you to my study this afternoon to propose a deal." He began. Jack momentarily hazed over at the word "propose," but immediately refocused on what Pitch was saying, feeling embarrassed.

"You know what I do for a living, I trust?" he asked. Jack rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I got the whole criminal mastermind bit." He snapped.

"Yes, but do you understand exactly what it is I do in the field of criminal activity?"

Jack furrowed his brows in confusion, and he shrugged.

"You steal things," he answered.

"Not just 'things,'" Pitch corrected, "I steal priceless artifacts. I only trouble myself with the best of the best."

"Oh, how sweet of you," Jack played. Pitch looked up at him testily.

"Excuse me?"

"You stole me, and therefore consider me a priceless artifact. I'm touched, really." Jack said, sarcastically. Pitch exhaled sharply, but continued to speak.

"Seeing as these artifacts are some of the most treasured specimen in the world, the tactics I use to obtain them are complicated and well thought out. It takes a lot to do my job. Recently, I have been given a task that might be downright impossible…"

"Might?" Jack questioned.

"In order to do this job," Pitch said, "I require another person."

Jack nodded slowly, listening, when he understood what Pitch was trying to say.

"Oh, no," Jack said, backing up, "Oh, definitely not. Not in a million years!"

"Jack…"

"Why in god's name would you need me?" Jack asked, frantically pointing to himself. Pitch ran a hand through his hair, and exhaled loudly.

"I'm going to be honest with you-"

"Better late than never," Jack huffed under his breath.

"The people I am going to be stealing from are people I would rather not run into."

"Why?"

"Let's just say that they hold a bit of a grudge against me."

"So?" Jack pressed bitterly, "You're a criminal! I'm sure plenty of people hold a grudge against you."

Jack, of course, was indicating to his own grudge against Pitch at the moment, but Pitch didn't seem to get what he was hinting at.

"This is different… You see, these men... they believe I am dead."

Jack's eyebrows shot up and he pursed his lips together. He threw his hands by his side in an exasperated fashion, almost like this was typical of Pitch. Pitch observed his reaction with a nod.

"You see my predicament."

"Why can't your two goons do the job?" Jack insisted, gesturing to Pitch's henchmen "Why do you need me?"

"I have used them in almost every operation I have ever been assigned to, and I am worried that their presence will cause suspicion. No, I need someone new. Someone who these people could never relate back to me…"

Jack looked down at the carpet, his mind racing. Pitch was giving him an opportunity to participate in a crime. A real crime! Jack wasn't entirely sure what to make of the proposition. He did, however, consider it an opportunity to escape the palace, which sounded promising…

"Will it be dangerous?" he asked eagerly.

"Yes," Pitch said. Jack hummed appreciatively.

"Well… I suppose if you truly need me…"

Jack was pushing his luck and he knew it. Pitch glared at him, obviously annoyed.

"Don't toy with me, Frost."

"Alright, alright, fine." Jack agreed, "On one condition."

Pitch's face distorted into one of surprise.

"Just because I require your assistance, does not mean you are in the position to make deals," Pitch snarled. Jack smirked, feeling stupidly confident.

"It's just one little thing," Jack insisted. Pitch leaned on the mantle of the fireplace and massaged his eyes with his palms in a tired fashion.

"Fine. What?"

"Kiss me again."

This caught Pitch completely off guard. He lost his balance and almost banged his head on the mantle, but he caught himself just in time. He looked at Jack like he hadn't quite understood what he had asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me," Jack said, his insides fluttering nervously, but he knew what he wanted. Maybe Pitch would slap him again, or maybe he would send him back to his room. Jack didn't care anymore, so he was going to press his luck to the point of foolishness.

Pitch cleared his throat politely, and readjusted his collar. Jack couldn't help but notice how the tables had turned; Jack was now the one making Pitch uncomfortable, and he wouldn't deny that he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

"What if I say no?" Pitch tried, obviously covering up his initial shock at the question. Jack shrugged teasingly.

"How badly do you need me?" he asked.

Pitch was approaching Jack slowly, at a casual pace, but still enough to make Jack's insides twist with excitement.

"Not that badly," Pitch murmured. Jack gave him an appraising look, feeling cocky in his newfound position of power.

"Oh well then," he sighed. "I guess you'll have to find someone else."

Pitch stopped walking as he stood inches away from Jack, towering over the boy. Jack looked up, meeting the man's gaze with a playful sparkle in his eyes.

"You are insufferable, you know that?" Pitch whispered. Jack smiled.

"I've been told."

Pitch's confidence had returned, Jack could see, as he began to run his fingers over Jack body. Jack was wearing his basic white blouse, but parts of his chest and collarbones remained unhidden, allowing Pitch to lightly graze the skin. Jack repressed a shiver.

"Fine," Pitch said, "It's a deal."

He leaned over gracefully, and Jack could feel the hot breath running across his nerves like warm honey. Jack closed his eyes and sighed as he felt Pitch roaming over the muscles in his back and shoulders. He needed Pitch. He wanted to do things to Pitch…

As if Pitch could read his mind, the man took another step so that his upper thigh was in contact with Jack's groin. Jack inhaled sharply, the close contact taking him by surprise. Pitch was wearing that familiar evil smile that suggested the balance of power had returned to normal. Jack was weak in Pitch's arms, and he felt shots of pleasure run through him that drove him wild. He watched as Pitch leaned down, their lips hairs away from one another, breathing in one another hungrily.

Then, Pitch pulled away. Jack was still standing there expectantly, his body crying out at the loss of contact. He snarled.

"What… What are you…?" He stammered, flustered. Pitch could barely contain his amusement.

"You said you wanted me to kiss you," he explained, moving back towards the armchair. "You never specified when you wanted me to. All in good time Frost."

Jack's jaw dropped and the area between his thighs ached for release, but he could hardly move from his spot.

"You tease!" Jack reprimanded. Pitch's smile only widened at this.

"Simon will show you back," he said in response. "Tomorrow, we will begin planning."

Jack was gaping at the man, unsure of what to do, when Simon reentered the room.

"I'll get you back for this Pitch," Jack swore as he was lead out the large oak doors, into the dark hallways. "You owe me."

"I'm sure you will," the grey man sang.


	8. Chapter 8

"You'll enter from here," Pitch explained, pointing to one end of the map that graphed the entire building. "I will teleport you there myself, but I can't get you past the security perimeter. Teleportation would be too risky to go any further. You'll have to do that yourself."

Jack was standing across from Pitch, separated by a long table. On this table were various items, the most prominent being the map itself. But there were pencils, measuring tapes, empty coffee mugs, notebooks filled with jagged handwriting, and figurines that Pitch used strategically to help him plan. When Jack had strolled into the study early that morning, he found this sight quite funny. Pitch always seemed so put together, and in control, but the mess sprawled across the bureau seemed to declare otherwise. Who knew how long the grey man had spent perfecting his plan, or how much sleep it had cost him? The idea of a frazzled Pitch made Jack smile, but as he listened to the strategy Pitch had concocted, his amusement turned to worry.

He was really doing this. He was going to participate in a crime.

"Myself?" Jack questioned, "And how exactly do you propose I do that? Not everyone can teleport through shadows Pitch."

"Ah, but you see, you won't need shadows," Pitch said, waving a finger. He moved swiftly to another end of his study in a graceful manner, pulling something from behind the corner that had been hidden from sight…

"The staff!" Jack exclaimed, holding out his hands greedily, an eager smile stretching over his face. The curved staff looked quite plain in the dim light of Pitch's study, but Jack knew it was anything but. He felt delighted at the idea of holding it again; feeling its power. Though, before he could wrap his hands around the wood, Pitch yanked it back.

"I've already described to you what it does," he rambled, "but you need to be aware that this staff is, indeed, a _weapon_ Jack. It's not some frivolous play thing for your enjoyment."

Jack's face twisted in frustration, and he gave Pitch a reprimanding look.

"I'm not a baby, Pitch," he snarled, "I get it."

"Good," Pitch said sternly, swinging the staff over to him. Jack snagged it with a playful grin on his face. It felt light and comfortable in his grip as he skillfully twirled it between his hands.

"This is what you will be using to get yourself past the guards, and into the building. It will not disappoint you. After that, everything should be moderately simple. However, once inside, it is very crucial that you don't mess with anything… Jack, are you listening?"

Jack looked up from handling the wood, his eyes filled with anticipation. He met Pitch's gaze.

"Yeah, yeah, I heard. Don't mess with stuff."

"With any luck, we should be able to grab what we need, and get out before they even realize we're there."

Jack twirled the staff around so that he could use it to prop himself up. He looked down at the map in a worried manner.

"Where can I find this precious item?" he began.

"The necklace of Sisimiut." Pitch corrected. "It is located… here."

Pitch raised a long, black finger, and pointed to the western end of the building.

"It will be heavily guarded," he continued, as he began to fish around for something in the piles of paper strewn around the table. "So it is lucky that you are so small. You have an advantage."

Finally, he removed something from the mess that he seemed satisfied with, and handed it to Jack. Jack hesitantly took the paper, and saw that it was a photo of what he was stealing. The necklace was large, and engraved with massive, glittering stones that Jack had never seen before. He recalled that the Luck family had priceless jewels and treasures stored away back at the estate, but nothing of this extravagance.

"Wow." he said appreciatively, "those are big gems."

Pitch ripped the photo out of his hands.

"Yes, I suppose. Now, since it will be protected by heavy artillery, you will need to do things slowly, and tactfully… JACK!"

Jack's head snapped up from his daze and he stumbled a little at Pitch's harsh tone.

"Yes, sorry. What?" he said quickly. Pitch rolled his eyes and massaged his temples.

"This is going to be more difficult than I thought... Alright, come here."

Pitch motioned with his hand that Jack move in his direction, and Jack did so without hesitation. He was looking down at the map, pretending to be engrossed in the layout of the building, when in reality, he was trying not to look Pitch in the eye.

Then, Pitch snaked a hand around Jack's waist, and gently guided him so he was pressed to Pitch's side. Jack's head snapped up and his swallowed hard, the sudden warmth sharpening his thoughts.

"Now listen," Pitch murmured close to Jack's ear, his voice soothing, "you'll need to take out each guard as delicately as you can. Our goal is not to attract attention, which, unfortunately, is a bit of a gift of yours. So, I'm going to have to ask something of you that will be astronomically difficult: be cautious. This will only work if you do exactly as I am telling you, and you are as discreet as possible. Do I make myself clear?"

Jack was listening now, and he nodded slowly, trying not to seem as smitten as he actually felt. He wasn't uncomfortable, per say, but he did feel a bit awkward.

"Got it," he croaked. He didn't even have to look at Pitch to know that he was smiling. The man didn't stop Jack from pulling away this time, the color retreating from his face at the loss of contact.

"So, you haven't told me what I do after I have the necklace," Jack said, changing the subject, and deciding maybe he should make a better effort to listen to Pitch's plan.

"Ah, excellent point. I doubt you will succeed in going completely unnoticed, so getting out will be much trickier than getting in. Certain defenses will be put against you. So instead of going back the way you came, my advice is for you is to go out this way."

Pitch indicated to a small tube like structure that ran all the way from inside the building, to the wetlands surrounding the perimeter. It was a few doors down from where the necklace was being held.

"Wait… the sewers?" Jack groaned, looking at Pitch disbelievingly.

"You're slim enough to fit." Pitch said.

"You're kidding."

"I never kid about my work."

Jack exhaled dramatically, grazing his fingers through his snow white hair. He noted that Pitch was watching him, but he pretended not to notice.

"What about these men that you told me about… the ones who think you're dead?" Jack asked, "Will they be guarding the necklace?"

"Most likely," Pitch admitted, crossing his arms across his tight chest. "And you should know that these are the most dangerous men you will ever meet. You would do well to tread lightly."

Jack's lips were suddenly very dry as he nervously licked them.

"Ok… so I take out the security, and grab the necklace. Then, I escape through sewers. Sounds like a foolproof plan." He summarized sarcastically, his mind calculating the odds of him getting out of this alive.

"It's the best we've got," Pitch admitted. "And you stand more of a chance than you think."

Jack set the staff down on the floor, and grabbed the edges of the table tensely. He stared at the wall ahead, and focused on his breathing.

"You know… I shouldn't even be doing this," he said mainly to himself, "I don't know what I was thinking. I'm not a criminal."

"Maybe not," Pitch whispered. Jack hadn't noticed how close his was until he placed a contrasting black hand against Jack's white knuckles. It was a sweet, warm gesture. "But with my help, you will be."

Jack bit his tongue and turned his head a fraction of an inch, seeing Pitch out of the corner of his eye. The spiraling feeling of anxiety in his gut only intensified, but Jack knew that he was already in too deep to turn back. Pitch would never let him drop out now, and Jack couldn't blame him.

Everything seemed too surreal. Almost like Jack had fallen into one of his nightmares.

"Alright," Jack caved in, lowering his head in submission, "Let's do it."

* * *

Fresh air filled Jack's lungs like delicious water, and Jack had to close his eyes at the refreshing feeling. It was nighttime, but compared to the stale air of the underground palace, the night air was positively luxurious. It cleansed Jack's worries and fears, and he drank it in hungrily, breathing loudly through his nose. The breeze tickled his hair.

"Are you ready?" Pitch asked impatiently. Jack opened his eyes and made sure he had everything: the staff, his bag filled with Pitch's gadgets, and a small rolled up map of the building clutched in his hand.

"Yeah," Jack said, "I'm good."

"Prepare yourself," Pitch warned, gripping Jack's upper arm tightly, preparing to teleport.

"I'll be fine," Jack assured.

"If you recall, you didn't take so kindly to teleportation last time."

"I wasn't prepared last time."

Pitch smirked in the darkness, the shadows hiding everything but the piercing glow of his golden eyes.

Then, they were off. That same feeling of suffocation and fear clawed away at Jack's inner thoughts. It pushed and pulled the fibers of his being, threatening to tear him apart. Jack wanted to scream, but he bit his tongue, reminding himself that he had nothing to fear. He was with Pitch, and there was no reason to panic.

They appeared on a hillside with a brilliant view of the building below. Jack gasped for air, and stumbled a little, but Pitch caught him.

"Are you alright?" He asked, sounding genuinely concerned. Jack was touched for a moment by Pitch's sincerity.

_Of course he's concerned, _Jack reminded himself._ Without me, his plan is ruined._

"I'm fine," he replied, shaking off whatever feelings had suddenly popped into his head. "I'm okay."

The building was surrounded by a platoon of guards that were visible, even from this distance. They wore black, and appeared to be holding large weaponry. Jack suddenly felt worried that they could see them from up here, but he tried to reassure himself that it was much too dark. The lanterns surrounding the building gave it an eerie glow, and everything was prickling with silence.

"Once inside, do your best not to ruin everything."

"Thanks for those comforting words," Jack hissed. Pitch let out a single chuckle.

"Good luck."

And with that, he molded into the shadows, and was gone. Jack allowed himself some time to appreciate the solitude, before that familiar, dull roar of panic became noticeable again. Jack ran his observant eyes over the positioned guards below and gripped his staff comfortingly.

_No turning back now, _he thought again. This seemed to ease the fear in a strange way.

The building was large looked a lot like a storage house mixed with a prison. From the outside, it was dull, but clearly well built. The fortification was sturdy and strong. Each wall was individually guarded by an armed lookout, and they marched back and forth across it intimidatingly. As Jack approached them, he remembered that he was becoming more and more visible as he got closer, and decided he needed somewhere to hide.

Near a handful of guards, there was a shabby looking wagon. It wasn't ideal, but Jack was slim enough that he could slip behind it, unnoticed. He crept as stealthily as possible in its direction, praying that no one was looking his way.

Finally, after what felt like angst ridden hours, he reached the wagon with a silent sigh. Jack leaned down next to one of the wheels, crouching on his toes, listening to the blood pounding in his ears. He took a moment to regain his courage, before peeking out from behind it. The guards were very serious looking, parading up and down the perimeter of the walls with harsh expressions, holding their artillery with one hand.

Jack squinted into the darkness, considering his options. Pitch had given him an array of ideas, depending on how Jack wanted to go about getting inside, as long as he remained inconspicuous. He watched as the guard turned and came back around, and he suddenly had an idea. Jack had to make sure, though, that the timing was as precise as possible.

The guard's stiff footsteps reached the far end of the wall, but he didn't get a chance to turn on his heels and walk back the other way before a shot of cold pierced his flesh, and he crumbled to the ground. Jack leaped up, scanning his surroundings for any sign of trouble, before darting out from behind the wagon. He ran over to the unconscious guard, and dragged him back to his hiding spot as quickly as he could. Though, seeing as the guard was quite a bulky man, Jack worked up a nice sweat before he got there.

He wasn't dead, which made Jack sigh with relief. Though, it was short-lived when he realized it was only a matter of time before someone realized one of the walls was guardless. Jack began striping as quickly as possible, and then yanked off the guards clothes in at a similar pace. Immediately, he found a problem. The guard truly was a massive specimen. Jack was a small, wiry boy, who could never fit into the clothes of this man.

He put them on anyway, knowing he had little time. The guard was now lying in his undergarments beside the wagon, unmoving. Jack was swimming in the large black shirt and pants, gripping the large gun in one hand, and his staff in the other.

Jack realized this must look incredibly odd, and anyone who got a good look at him would know he wasn't a real guard. The hat on his head kept falling over his eyes, and he tripped over the pant legs once or twice on his way out from the hiding spot.

_Then let's hope no one gets a good look at me, _he thought.

Stumbling over to the wall, Jack began imitating what the guard had been doing, though in a much clumsier manner. Then, hoping no one would notice, he began groping around the wall for any indication of a door. It was almost impossible, because the door had been cut into the wall, making it almost invisible to the eye. Pitch had enlightened him of this little detail, so Jack knew what to look for.

Jack suddenly felt a crack in the concrete slab of a building, and to his delight, he also saw a small opening for a key. Glancing around edgily, Jack raised his staff to the lock.

"Hey Jim!" Called a voice, "What are you doing?"

Jack's heart practically leaped out of his throat. He couldn't feel his legs, but by some miracle, he managed to turn around.

"N-nothing…" he stammered, then cleared his throat, deepening it. "I mean… Just wanted to make sure it was… secured."

The other guard approached Jack, but Jack backed up, hoping that the shadows hid him well enough. The other guard came into the light. He was tall, with a thick beard, and sharp eyes. He glanced at Jack suspiciously.

"What's that in your other hand…" he asked.

Jack paused, reluctant to respond. They both stood in silence for a moment…

Then, Jack sent a sudden burst of ice at the man's torso, rendering him unconscious. Jack's eyes were wide with fear, and he was panting with terror. He looked around to make sure no one had seen, before running over to the body. That had been much too close.

Jack realized this other guard was much slimmer than the one he had taken clothes from, so Jack switched them out. This guard's clothes fit much better, and Jack felt much more confident wearing them. Then, after dragging his second victim back over to the wagon, Jack iced the lock in the side of the wall, and broke it open. He slipped inside the building, closing the door behind him.

The hallways were dim, with the lantern lights being the only thing to guide him. Jack jumped at every noise, raising his staff defensively. He felt like at any moment, someone was going to jump out and kill him. Every molecule in his body was screaming in protest as Jack proceeded down each silent corridor. He only stopped to double check the map, reassuring himself that he was going the right way.

With no interruptions, Jack finally reached the room he was looking for. He stuffed the map away as quietly as he could, and placed his gun by the side of the door. He only needed his staff. The other weapon was much too cumbersome for Jack's liking.

He silently froze the lock to the room, jiggled the handle of the door, and forced it open. He prepared himself for someone to attack him, but there was nothing. Only silence. Jack poked his head into the room, and then cautiously stepped inside.

Everything was dark, except for a single spotlight radiating a glow in the middle of the room. Beneath this light, was a podium, which displayed something glittering, and large.

Jack wanted to laugh out loud, but he settled for a triumphant fist in the air instead. The necklace resided peacefully beneath a glass dome, which appeared to be the only barrier protecting it from the outside world. It was just as exquisite and expensive as it had looked in the photograph.

Jack's euphoria soared, and he didn't even bother to acknowledge that annoying, nagging voice in the back his head. If he had, he would have realized that this was all too easy. It was almost like the necklace had been casually handed to him. There was no one guarding it, even though it was supposed to be one of the most expensive treasures in the world, and it had taken Jack all of an hour to reach it, without being interrupted.

But Jack was too happy, and too filled with joyous success to notice anything suspicious. He had done it. He had found the necklace, and now all he had to do was get out. It seemed unreal. Jack suddenly understood why Pitch relished this job so much. There was a thrill to thieving; a thrill Jack quite enjoyed. He put down his staff as he slowly approached the glass dome.

Suddenly, the door of the room slammed shut, the ghostly sound echoing off the walls. Jack spun on his heels, and froze, the spotlight the only thing keeping the room lit. He could hear his blood racing, but Jack had stopped breathing. Time seemed to slow as his triumphant joy vanished. Jack slowly began feeling around for his staff that he had put down, his fright searing through him like scalding hot water. When he finally felt it, he reached down to pick it up, only resulting in him nervously stumbling forward.

Then, there was laughter.

"What a cute little thief," said a gruff voice from somewhere in the darkness, "it's a shame that we'll have to kill you."

Before Jack could scream, he was falling through shadows.


	9. Chapter 9

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER HAS GRAPHIC TORTURE. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.**

Jack didn't even need to open his eyes to know that he wasn't in the room with the necklace anymore. The air felt wet, and smelled of mildew. Far off somewhere, the sound of a dripping pipe bounced off the empty walls.

When Jack did open his eyes, it was almost like he hadn't. Darkness was everywhere; a state of matter like air. It consumed the room and everything in it, rendering Jack completely blind. He tried to squint, doing his best to adjust to the new setting, but it didn't matter because the darkness was unyielding. Like a black curtain, it shrouded all possible light. Jack was more confused than scared. His head hurt and he felt dizzy.

Suddenly, a small flicker of light danced out of the corner of his eye. He immediately turned to it, drawn away from the shadows. It was only a dim flicker, but it was something familiar that Jack could latch his gaze onto. He craned his neck to observe it better, watching as it came closer… getting larger.

Accompanied by this light, was a man; a man Jack didn't recognize. He held the light in front of him as he approached the boy, glaring down at him like a satisfied predator. Jack's stared up at him, his mouth parted slightly, and his eyes questioning. When the man planted his feet directly in front of Jack, he leered disgustingly. His face was distorted and calloused, almost like it had been burnt. A long, prominent scar ran from his temple, all the way down to his right cheek, and traveling over his eyelid. Black, greasy hair clung to his face like it was drenched in water.

"Hello, little thief," the man rumbled, his voice gravelly and thick. Jack blinked a few times, his vision still adjusting. "How nice for you to join us."

"Who are you?" Jack asked, doing his best to sound confident, though he was far from it. He readjusted his posture, and leaned forward assertively, only to find himself restrained. Jack whipped his head around, and found that he was bound to a chair, held back by black bonds that chaffed against his wrists. His ankles were also immobile. He turned back to the man, suddenly angry at finding himself tied up. "What do you want?"

The man wasn't the most expressive person Jack had ever met, but he could tell by the way his unkempt eyebrows shot up that he was surprised. He examined Jack intently, like a bug under a microscope.

"You're not in the position to ask questions here, boy. We found you trying to steal something that we were guarding. We'll do the interrogating around here."

Jack paused, and repeated curiously, "We?"

The man smirked before he took a step back into the shadows, and once he did, Jack could faintly make out four other figures arising from the darkness. They took a step forward.

Each one had a different face, and body structure. Some were wiry like Pitch, and others were massive and bulky. One thing Jack did notice though, and with great surprise, was that all these men had grey tinted skin. He could feel the blood drain from his face, leaving his cheeks cold and clammy.

Jack didn't want to jump to conclusions, but he had a pretty good hunch as to who these men were.

These were soldiers of the Golden Fleet.

Well, what was left of them anyway.

"I wasn't… I mean I didn't…" Jack tried, his mind working frantically to form some kind of excuse for his behavior, but coming up with nothing. These men had every right to arrest him for what he had tried to do.

Jack's stomach churned in sudden guilt, as he thought about how disappointed Pitch would be in him. He hadn't retrieved the necklace, and got captured by the men Pitch had specifically told him to look out for. He felt humiliatingly stupid.

"Save it, child," sneered another member of the fleet, "We know what you were trying to do. It was quite cute, really, how you thought you could get past us."

"How did you know I was here?" Jack grunted. All of them laughed, and began to disperse so they could circle his chair ominously.

"Please," said another, "We knew you were there from the start. You weren't exactly discreet about your presence."

"We decided to indulge you," said the large, bulky man. "We figured we would see how far you got. It was quite entertaining."

Jack bit his tongue in resentment, feeling his face flush angrily.

"Glad I'm so amusing to you."

The men continued, "But, all good things must come to an end. You got far, so we had to intervene."

"And now the real fun begins," said one who looked particularly slimy; his nose was long, and his eyes were slit like a snakes. "So tell us, boy… who do you work for?"

Jack looked up with curious eyes, staring at the man as he huffed air through his nostrils.

"Why would you think I work for someone?" Jack pressed, "How do you know I'm not on my own?"

One of the men behind Jack's chair scoffed, clearly amused. "You're a boy. You expect us to believe someone of your age and immaturity thought you could rob one of the most protected treasures in the world without help?"

"Why not?" Jack contradicted, "I mean, you said yourself that I'm not exactly a good thief. Don't you think that, if I worked for someone, they would have taught me better?"

Jack internally apologized to Pitch, but he knew he had to lead these men off Pitch's trail. For some reason, these men thought Pitch was dead, and Jack wasn't about to give him up.

The men were silent a moment, considering Jack's words.

"You're quite defensive for someone who _isn't _working for another person," the slimy man pointed out. Jack made a mental note that these men were smarter than he gave them credit for. They had been trained by the best, after all. Jack swallowed loudly.

"I'm not defensive; I'm just telling the truth. I figured that's what you would want, you know, seeing as this is an interrogation."

The five continued to move around Jack's chair like vultures, waiting for him to say something wrong so they could pounce.

"I don't believe it," said one of them gruffly. "He's too amateur and naïve to do something like this on his own."

"Well, obviously," Jack shot back bitterly, "Isn't that why you caught me? Because I was too amateur and naïve to do the job properly?"

"Enough of this pointless banter!" yelled another, who stepped into the light. Jack could tell that this man was in charge. He held an aura of importance and leadership, and he was easily the calmest of them all. He had a handsome composure, but his eyes were soul searching, and pierced Jack like a dagger. "Bring forth his weapon!"

Jack watched as one of the men reached into the shadows, and withdrew his staff. Surprised, his hands cried out for the comforting touch, and security it provided. Jack wasn't sure if he could take on all these men and live, but with his staff, he'd at least stand a fighting chance. If only he could get to it…

"Where did you get this?" hissed the man, towering over Jack intimidatingly. Jack couldn't help but be reminded of Pitch by this man's dominating presence. He violently pushed the thought away, staring into those similar golden eyes with determination, and resolve.

"Would you believe that I stole it?" Jack retorted.

"No," this man said with powerful truth, "I wouldn't."

Jack did his very best to wear a composure of amusement, even though he was utterly petrified.

"Why not? Just because I couldn't get past you," he played, "doesn't mean I can't get past others."

"You are no thief," he said blatantly. "I knew the man who owned this staff. It was given to him as a gift after a great battle… A battle we fought together. He was not the kind of man a person steels from… not unless they wanted to wind up dead."

Jack ran his tongue over his teeth in preparation for his next lie. "Then you should also know that the person I stole this has been dead for some time."

Jack played right into the hands of these men, hopefully giving them exactly what they wanted to hear. The words fell from his tongue easily. There was a moment of respected silence.

"Yes, we know he's dead." The man said softly, "but even as a dead man, Kozmotis guards his treasure carefully. You would have to be a skilled thief to steal this from his collection."

Jack shrugged.

"Maybe the dead man's treasure wasn't as carefully guarded as you think."

Abruptly, the guard slams his hands down onto the armrests of Jack's chair, violently. Jack completely forgets about his acting, and gasps in fear at the man's sudden act, his heart pounding violently.

"I don't like liars," the man snarled under his breath, "Now tell me where you got this staff, or we'll have to do this the hard way."

Jack didn't want to risk speaking because he didn't know what would come out of his mouth, so he pressed his lips together. The man observed the subtle movement closely, and a small smile danced across his lips.

"Very well, the hard way it is."

Two men suddenly grabbed the sides of Jack's chair roughly, and one stood in front, snatching his chin between two fingers. He pinched it in a painful manner, and made Jack cry out. He couldn't turn his head, but he could just make out the glint of a dagger from the corner of his eye.

"So tell me boy, where did you get this staff?" the man repeated calmly. Jack tried to shake his head, but the grip on his face was dead-set and strong.

"I already told you!" he yelled, shifted his hands and ankles against the bonds desperately. The dagger quickly came down on his exposed arm, the skin breaking easily, and the blood oozing out from the veins. Jack screamed.

"You're a northerner, eh? These will make nice scars on your pretty white skin," said the slimy one, who smiled widely as he took the tip of the dagger, and slowly drilled it into Jack's already open wound. Jack's eyes were about to pop out of his head, and his head spun from the pain. He fought against his bonds as he continued to scream bloody murder. The red liquid dribbled down his pants and onto the floor, making puddles.

"Where did you get it?" the man asked angrily.

"I told you! I told you!" Jack yelled, squirming violently. A long slit was carved down his other arm, the pain searing like fire over his icy skin. Tears prickled in the corners of Jack's eyes, "PLEASE!"

The dagger drilled and drilled into the wide cut until Jack was sure it had struck bone, and he cried so loud that he was sure his throat was scratched and bleeding. The pain was insufferable, and Jack was slowly loosing energy. His loss of blood was extreme as the cuts down his arms bled profusely, pouring out his bodily fluids like a tap. Tears flowed over his face, blinding him.

"Come now, little thief. We could make your death quick if you tell us how you got your hands on this staff… or we could do this all night."

Jack sobbed loudly, but could not form coherent enough words to answer.

"Very well..."

Jack couldn't even see where they were cutting him anymore, but each surge of pain hit his entire body like a wave. His chest heaved and his body convulsed. Jack found himself begging for death… for escape. He prayed silently, in the back of his mind, and all the while, the pain raged on.

Then, it stopped. Jack lay there weakly, expecting the question to be shouted at him again… for the knife to find some other part of his body to ravage. He could hardly hear, for everything was muffled, but Jack did make out the sound of swords being drawn, and distant shouting. He couldn't shut his eyes, so he stared into a patch of shadows, awaiting the next dose of agony; or death, whichever came first.

Then, he was moving. It was a different kind of pain, but Jack still felt it. He howled, feeling his limp, bloody body moving through space, and a dull ache settling into his joints.

The last thing Jack remembered was the warmth of a chest as he rested his head against it. It was hard and muscular, but he didn't care. He was tired… so very tired…

* * *

Pitch had heard the scream from the other end of the building. It was unmistakably Jack's, and Pitch's immediate response was to find him. To save him.

But before he ran towards the terrible noise, Pitch's paused. He considered the situation, knowing that that these men were unforgivable. They thought Pitch was dead, and Pitch knew that it would be much more practical to think up a plan before diving in and revealing himself.

Though, before he could so much as unscramble his thoughts, Jack screamed again, and Pitch swore as he blindly raced towards the sound.

The shadows were always a comfort to the grey man, giving Pitch the advantage in almost any situation. The room itself was dark, and filled with shadows, making teleportation easy. The cries and pleas were even worse down here; they drilled through Pitch like swords, making him cringe violently. Jack was in agonizing pain. He sat in a chair, bound, and surrounded by five guards. Pitch recognized each and every one of them, and the sharp memories stung, but he bit his tongue to control his emotions. They weren't his men anymore.

"Where did you get it?"

"I told you! I told you! PLEASE!"

Pitch gritted his teeth as he watched and listened, his heart lurching in his chest as he saw the blood collecting at the boy's feet. It was a profound amount, and if Jack continued to bleed, he would die.

Pitch grimaced and turned away. He should leave. To these men, Pitch was gone, and he would do almost anything to keep it that way. No deal for Jack was worth giving up his security and protection. He would concoct a lie for his superior, and convince him that the boy had killed himself. Speaking on a logical level, Jack was hardly worth the risk, so the choice should be simple: leave the boy.

Jack screamed again, and Pitch's felt lethal anger claw its way up into his chest. He drew his sword with a sharp, metallic chink, and stepped from the darkness, holding it up threateningly. The men all turned to see who had interrupted their torturing session with angry expressions. When they saw Pitch standing there, their jaws dropped.

"Step away from the boy or you all die." he growled menacingly.


	10. Chapter 10

Jack was getting really sick of passing out.

Before Pitch had kidnapped him, he had never passed out before, or at least, not that he could remember. But now, Jack had lost count of how many times he had been knocked unconscious, and to be frank, he was tired of it.

So when he woke up in an armchair in the middle of Pitch's study- even though he could have sworn he was being tortured just a few moments ago- Jack groaned exasperatedly. At the noise, Pitch's head snapped up next to the arm rest, making Jack jump.

"Good, you're awake. I was almost beginning to worry," he said casually, whipping out a long stretch of gauze and twirling it around his fingers.

Jack jerked his head to give Pitch an evil glare, but instantly regretted the decision, finding himself painfully dizzy. His head felt like it had been cracked open like an eggshell, and the contents of his stomach were threatening to spill out of him.

Almost as if Pitch were reading his mind, he said "Don't you dare vomit on this chair, boy."

Jack swallowed.

"What happened?" He croaked, his throat soar and tired. He could barely manage the words.

"_You_," Pitch said, still winding out more gauze, "Were stupid enough to get captured, and tortured. _I _was thoughtful enough to come and rescue you."

Jack was trying to concentrate on his breathing, letting his dehydrated lungs drink the air, and settle his nausea. "You… saved me?"

Pitch nodded, busily trying not to look Jack in the eye as Jack so keenly observed.

Nodding contently, Jack leaned back in his chair, and griped, "Took you long enough."

Was that a smile Jack detected on Pitch's face? Before he could be sure, it was gone, and Pitch was standing over Jack with fistfuls of gauze in his hands. He leaned over, and Jack followed him with his eyes, gazing at the bloody wounds that were now cleaned, but still deep and grotesque. Pitch seemed unbothered by this as he gently, but firmly, wrapped the bandages around Jack's pale flesh, sending shivers up Jack's spine.

"Why?" Jack suddenly pondered aloud. Wrapping his arm slowly, Pitch almost seemed reluctant to answer, but in the end, he decided to use his fallback excuse.

"Because I still need you."

"Is that it?"

Normally, Pitch would respond with something snarky, or suggestive, making Jack's cheeks burn crimson. But today, as Pitch tended to the boy, he went for a more practical retort.

"That's it."

He should've known that Jack wasn't going to give in that easily

"I don't think that's true," Jack pushed.

"Regardless of what you think, I rescued you because you are still quite valuable to me." Pitch countered, using a rag to wipe the crusted blood from his fingers elegantly. Pitch was the only person Jack knew that could clean blood from his hands in such a way. "I needed you. I wasn't going to let you die on my watch."

Instead of just agreeing for the sake of the argument, Jack decided not to respond, silently refusing to let the subject go. Pitch stuck a pin through the wrappings, sealing them in place.

"These will scar," Pitch said.

Jack shrugged.

"I don't care."

Jack was surprised to see Pitch purse his lips together bitterly, before he turned away, almost as if he were indicating that he cared… almost like Jack's indifferent attitude about his own safety bothered him.

"So," Jack approached tentatively, "those men… they know you're alive now."

"Yes," Pitch replied curtly.

"What will they do to you?"

"You mean if they catch me?" he said with a cocky tone, "Which they won't. I taught them everything there is to know about the art of disappearance. I know all their tricks and tactics."

"But, if they do catch you…"

Jack's words faded off, and Pitch let the silence drift for a moment, putting various medical items back in the first aid kit, and snapping it shut.

"… did it hurt? When they tortured you?" he finally asked, his voice soft, but pressing. Jack blinked before he nodded, watching Pitch's lips turn up into a sad, but somewhat psychotic smile.

"It was child's play. They were toying with you. Those men could squeeze every drop of blood out of you like a wet dishrag, and still keep you alive long enough to feel the worst pain you've ever felt. They are skilled in the practice of killing slowly. It could've gone on for days… weeks even… You received the very tip of the iceberg."

Jack didn't really want to dwell on the prospect of weeks of torture. However, he couldn't suppress the violent shudders, or the sudden sting of his wounds.

"Let that be the answer to your question; which is exactly why they _aren't_ going to catch me."

"Then this deal you made for me," Jack thought out loud, "It must be pretty important if you would risk your life to keep me alive."

Pitch grumbled something incoherent as a response, turning his back to Jack as he stored the medical kit away in an upper cabinet.

"So, it only begs the question… what could you want to trade for so badly, that you would risk your life for it?"

Jack was trying to be gentle with his words, because he knew this subject was a touchy one for Pitch. The last time they spoke of what Jack was being traded for had left the boy choking for air; so Jack was cautious with his tone, hoping to come across as less of a threat. It was like baiting a dangerous wild cat.

It was obvious that Pitch knew what Jack was trying to do, but he had to admire the boy's efforts. He turned to face him, his gold eyes gleaming dangerously.

"That's still none of your concern."

Jack held up his hands in defeat, not daring to press further than that. Maybe another day, but if he continued to question Pitch now, it would only end badly. He looked down at his wrapped arms, and tried to bring them back down to his sides, but was met with another wave of pain.

"Ow!" he cried. Pitch leaned forward, clicking his tongue shamefully.

"Try not to move them too much. The cuts are more serious than they seem. Just be thankful that you still have your arms."

Jack peered at Pitch through a haze of lashes.

"How did you get to me so fast?" Jack questioned, cocking his head to the side like a curious child, "I mean, you were outside the building… How did you know I was being tortured?"

Pitch let out a pompous snort, easing back into that same familiar sense of superiority he was so comfortable with.

"I was already in the building, Jack. You're screams could be heard from the other side."

"… Why were you in the building? When we planned this, you said you would wait for me outside…?"

Pitch raised an eyebrow, the smile plastered onto his smug face. Jack felt like he was missing something big here…

"What… what were you doing?" he asked.

"I was doing my job," Pitch responded.

Jack gave Pitch a serious look of confusion, shaking his head stupidly.

"No, _I_ was doing your job."

"Oh? And how did that work out?"

Jack let his mouth open; his words prepared to dribble out, when he froze, and retracted, feeling ashamed.

"Ah," Pitch pointed out, dragging another chair from the table over to sit next to Jack, who was now refusing to meet his eyes. He felt like he should defend himself; after all, there had been little chance that Jack would make it out alive, much less escape with the necklace. Nevertheless, Jack had failed his first mission. Pitch had put faith in him, and Jack let him down.

Jack felt like he cared a little bit too much about what Pitch thought of him, but Pitch didn't need to know that. So the boy sat there quietly, fuming in his own guilt.

"Don't beat yourself up, Jack," Pitch said in a toying tone. Jack didn't understand why he wasn't upset. "It was your first time. Besides, the necklace really wasn't all that important."

Jack scoffed incredulously, "What do you mean, 'not important'? Isn't every client you get important? Won't this one be a little upset that you didn't get them what they asked for?"

That stupid, arrogant expression on Pitch's face only increased Jack's frustration. He realized Pitch enjoyed watching him dance when, clearly, the grey man knew something that Jack did not. Pitch reached into his jacket pocket, and withdrew something on the end of a string with a look of satisfaction.

Jack gazed at it curiously. It was a small vile filled to the top with what looked like black sand, and it shimmered as it hit the light of the fire. Pitch cradled it in his palm preciously.

"I-I don't know what that is," Jack hissed obviously, trying to coax Pitch into telling him what exactly he was missing.

"This, my dear boy, is what's left of Mond Kniaso's dream sand: very rare and very valuable. These grains of sand could give you the best dreams, or the worst nightmares, that you've ever had."

Jack curled his lips inwards, and glared at Pitch with confused disdain.

"Okay… what does that have to do with anything?"

Pitch sighed.

"While you were tromping around the building, keeping the men distracted, I slipped inside another way, and nicked this. I figured that you and your mediocre thieving skills – at best! - would keep them distracted long enough that I could do the job without being detected. This-" he held the vile up high, "is what I really needed. This was the real treasure, not some obnoxious expensive necklace. So, to answer your question Jack, my client will be very, very pleased."

Jack gawked at Pitch stupidly for a moment or two, letting himself really drink in what Pitch was telling him, before he lunged for the grey man's neck angrily.

"You mean to tell me, that all this was for A DISTRACTION?" he yelled, "Being tortured was something to keep my capturers OCCUPIED, while you gallivanted off around the building like a fairy collecting sand?!"

He scratched, and clawed at Pitch, the pain searing in his arms only reminding him of his rage. He did all that work, just so that Pitch could get a free pass in. "You lying, cheating scumbag!"

"JACK!" Pitch yelled powerfully, forcing Jack to turn his head, and notice that he hadn't even reached Pitch. Pitch had snagged his wrists before he could dig his fingernails into his skin vengefully, keeping him at bay.

"I don't know what I was thinking," Jack continued loudly, "I don't know what part of my stupid mind thought, for even a moment, that I could trust you!"

"Jack, your wounds-" Pitch started, pointing out that Jacks fresh gauze was now dripping with blood from being overexcited, "you need to relax!"

"I don't want to relax! I- I want to kill you! I want… I want…" he slowly faded off as his blood pressure lowered, the corners of his eyes beginning to fade again. He weakly fought against the darkness.

"You've lost too much blood. Perhaps you should save killing me until after you've recovered."

"Who's going to 'try'?" Jack gurgled, "I'm _going_ to kill you, Pitch. You did this to me."

Jack was fighting so hard to stay conscious, determined to stay awake for once. Pitch's lulling voice wasn't really helping his cause.

"I know, Jack, I know."

"And you don't… you don't even feel bad for… f-for what you did," Jack stammered weakly, "You would p-probably do it all again if you had to."

Something cool was pressed against Jack's lips and it smelled sweet. "Drink," Pitch commanded, "You'll feel better."

Jack obliged, letting the delicious liquid flow past his lips, and over his taste buds. It was cool and refreshing, clearly his mind, and bringing him back to reality almost immediately. As his vision refocused, he saw it was some form of medicine, and he swallowed graciously before sitting up and propping his now bloody arms back on the arm rests.

"We'll need to re- bandage those," Pitch said, eyeing the blood wearily.

"I don't care about the stupid bandages," Jack snapped.

"You should care, it's your life."

"Well you seem to care about my life more than I do," he retorted, "Maybe I should've died back there, and saved you the trouble. You were probably planning on letting me die anyways, until you remembered that I was worth something to you."

As expected, Pitch slammed the first aid kit back down onto the table, and stormed over to where Jack was sitting. This time, Jack didn't back down from Pitch's anger. He knew the effect his words would have, and was prepared for whatever wrath came his way.

"I told you to never talk like that!" Pitch snarled, leaning forwards, and pressing his fingertips into the armrests tensely; though obviously being careful not to touch Jack's wounds, "Ever!"

Jack met him halfway, equally as defensive, "Why, Pitch? Why does it matter if I talk about my own death? Why should that bother you, seeing as you're the one who almost got me killed?"

"I don't have to answer to you, boy!"

"Well, then I'm just going to keep prying, because I hate not being answered!"

The two stood there, rage and frustration steaming off them like hot broilers, threatening to overheat.

Then, Pitch grabbed Jack by the small of his back, pressing their torsos together, and kissed him.

Jack was surprised to say the very least. His head was still dizzy with anger, but now that Pitch's lips were pressed to his own, he wasn't really sure what to do. Attempting to push past the confusion, Jack was trying to come to terms with what was happening, and once he finally did, his anger melted like hot ice. Instinctively, he threw his arms around the man's torso, tilting his head back so as to lean into the kiss better. Pitch growled appreciatively, moving a warm hand up to cup Jack's neck. Tongues danced across teeth and intertwined passionately, and Jack sighed, letting himself get lost in the absolute pleasure that swept him away like a strong gust of wind. The warmth, the excitement… Jack wanted to drown in Pitch. That would be a wonderful way to die, he decided.

Pitch's grip might have been painfully constricting if Jack had been paying attention to pain. All he could feel was pure desire ricocheting through his body like an electric shock, pulsating with each shared breath between kisses. Pitch's lips were hungry and eager, yet loving and tender, as they devoured Jack's. Neither of them realized they had been moving backwards until Jack's heel ran into a wall. He stopped walking, but did not part from Pitch until the grey man made the first move. He parted unwillingly, and Jack unintentionally leaned against the solid brick, requiring something to support himself with. As he moved backwards, Pitch moved forwards, as if drawn to Jack like a magnet. Their noses mere hairs apart, the two stared at one another, breathing raggedly, and chest's rising and falling in sync. Even their heartbeats seemed to beat harmoniously as they were pressed against one another, separated by layers of skin and muscle.

Pitch licked his lips subtly and Jack's immediate thought was to reach out and snatch it with his teeth, but before he could do so, it retreated. Jack started to speak, and he wasn't quite sure what he was going to say…

And he never would. Pitch unexpectedly leaned down and began kissing Jack again; clearly unable to restrain himself, though Jack could tell he was trying. Somewhere far away, deep within the depths of Jack's mind, he knew this whole thing was a bad idea. But the rest of Jack screamed otherwise. It leaned into Pitch willingly, almost begging for his touch, craving everything he had to offer. Pitch was all too willing to take advantage of this and ran a slow hand enticingly down the muscle in Jack's back. It was the brisk, almost prickly sensation of Pitch's fingers that made Jack moan into his mouth, as he felt them dance along the sensitive skin around his spine. Pitch must have mastered the art of patience in foreplay, because he was going painfully slow for Jack's taste. Jack wanted more than just his teasing touch. He was growing restless, and unknowingly began to grind into Pitch, his thigh rolled into the grey man's groin sensually. The heat was becoming unbearable, and Jack wanted to succumb to it.

Then, his hands were slammed behind his head, and the excruciating pain returned. His wrists were on fire, and warm blood trickled down his pale arms. Pitch had not stepped back; in fact, if anything, he was closer to Jack, pinning him to the wall helplessly. He wore a wicked grin that made Jack's erection immediately harden, and his golden eyes punctured Jack delightfully.

But Jack couldn't ignore the agony that now pulsed through his wrists. He tried to swallow back the cry, but a small whimper escaped through his swollen lips. At the sound, Pitch looked up, and realized where he was gripping Jack. He quickly released him, taking an apologetic and shameful step back.

The pain subsided a bit, but Jack had not been prepared for the release on his body. Weak, and feeble, he crumpled to the floor.

"Oh, Jack," Pitch murmured, rolling his eyes, and immediately ran over to help the boy to his feet. Jack was shaking violently, and his world was spinning, but he could still feel the cry for Pitch's body echoing throughout his own.

Once Pitch had hoisted Jack up gently, avoiding his arms, Jack pathetically clung to his shirt. He couldn't feel his legs moving, but the softness of a cushion met his back as he returned to the armchair. The room was spinning.

"Don't you dare stop," Jack hissed. Pitch chuckled darkly, only magnifying Jack's growing sexual hunger.

"I apologize. That was hardly appropriate given your current condition," Pitch said, and to Jacks utter delight, he could still hear the raw lust in Pitch's voice.

"Who cares about my stupid condition," Jack groaned.

"I do," Pitch sighed.

Jack bit his tongue and turned his head away from Pitch, unwilling to go through this whole argument again. Pitch sounded so sincere and caring, and even though he clearly held some feelings for the boy, he really only cared about his stupid deal. Jack didn't like feeling sad, so he resorted to silent anger instead. He knew Pitch was staring at him, waiting for him to shoot out a retort, but it never came. Pitch exhaled loudly, and began to ponder aloud.

"Oh Jack, if only…" Pitch mumbled under his breath, "If only…"

"What?" Jack asked, looking at Pitch profoundly, "'If only' what, Pitch? I don't understand! One moment, you're treating me like a prisoner, and the next, you say you care about me! Make up your mind! If you don't want me, just freaking say so, and quit doing this!"

Then, Pitch was right next to Jack's ear, and his voice scared the living daylights out of the boy.

"You don't think I want you?" he asked seductively. Jack was trying his very hardest to stay mad. Pitch wasn't going to get away with this just because Jack found him incredibly attractive… no sir… "You don't think I wouldn't ravish you, right here, right now, if I could?"

Then, Pitch moved directly in front of Jack, kneeling in front of the fire which cast an unnerving aura around his figure; almost like he was glowing. "Jackson Frost, I would make love to you on every piece of furniture in this room, nay, everywhere in this palace if I had the chance. I crave the day when I can make you scream my name, or moan it into my mouth at my command."

There was no way he could stay mad at Pitch.

"Then why don't you?" he whispered, leaning forward a fraction of an inch. Pitch mimicked his movements.

"Because I have other factors to take into account. I can't allow things like affection interfere with my work. It's not good for me, or you, Jack. This whole thing could only end in suffering."

"I don't- AH!" he cried, his arms accidentally grazing his leg. Jack looked down, and saw that the gauze wasn't doing much to staunch to flow of blood anymore. Pitch got up and walked back over to the first aid kit, which was much too far away for Jack's liking.

"Try not to overexcite yourself again. I don't particularly enjoy playing doctor," he said. Jack flopped his head back, annoyed at how handicapped he was. Though, he was determined not to fall back asleep, so Jack refrained from responding to save his energy. Pitch walked back over and began re- bandaging everything. Even though the whole thing was slightly painful, Jack couldn't deny how comforting Pitch's gentle touch was. He didn't even care if it was genuine or not. He felt cared for.

"You'll have to sleep in here tonight. I won't risk having you moved until the morning." Pitch continued.

"Will you stay?" Jack asked weakly. Then, realizing how childish he sounded, he added, "Not that I enjoy your company or anything, but I don't think I could bandage myself if I had to."

Pitch gave him a smirk and responded, "Of course Jack. Now rest."

Jack did not rest. He didn't close his eyes once that night. He simply gazed into the fire, and listened to the soothing sound of Pitch's pen scribbling on paper.


	11. Chapter 11

"Jack… Jack, wake up," a voice was prodding, and Jack felt a firm hand shaking his shoulder so as to wake him. Jack's eyes shot open. He must have fallen asleep after all, though he had no recollection of drifting off. He yawned, his mouth stretching across his face painfully, and rubbed his eyes. His arms still hurt, but now it was more of a dull, irritating ache than a sharp pain. He had a difficult time moving them, for the muscle around the wounds was stiff and unyielding. The bandages didn't help much either, seeing as they were so tight that they were cutting off his blood circulation.

Jack turned his head, glaring at whoever had woken him, even though he knew exactly who it was. He could feel the bags under his eyes, and they threatened to swell shut from exhaustion. The angle he had slept left for a very painful crick in his neck, and he could hear cracks in his tired bones as he sat up.

"What… what's going on?" he groaned unintelligibly.

"You need to get up. My client will be here any moment to pick up his merchandise."

At this, Jack's entire body jolted forward, his heart in a sudden panic. No, that wasn't fair. He wasn't ready to leave yet. He didn't want to!

"But… but I still have… time. I can't go yet!" He panted. Pitch looked at him pathetically, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms indignantly.

"No, Jack. Not for you. The dream sand. My client will be here soon to pick it up."

A sigh of relief rolled through Jack's body, and he plopped his back into the chair once more, steadying himself from the false alarm.

"Oh, yeah right. The dream sand." He said. And then, all the moments from last night came rushing back to Jack. He realized he was still angry and frustrated with Pitch for what he had done, as well as bitter for what he had refused to do. Jack could never remember encountering more confusion in his life than what he experienced with Pitch, and it exasperated him to no end. That, and the fact that even though Pitch had pretty much sent the boy to his death, Jack still let the man kiss him.

What was wrong with him?

"I have explained to my client that I had an accomplice, and he insisted on meeting you when he arrived today. I could hardly refuse, though I deemed the idea unwise." Pitch continued talking, now messing around with the things on his desk.

"What, you don't trust me not to make a fool of myself in front of your clients?" Jack asked innocently, to which Pitch responded with a snort.

"Of course I don't. But it was primarily because I wasn't sure if you would be healthy enough for social interaction. You were still unconscious when I spoke to him."

There it was again: a little glimpse of Pitch's feelings, shining through the rock like a single ray of sun, before it vanished and left Jack in the dark once more.

"Do I want to meet this guy?" Jack questioned, "I mean, no offense or anything, but I think I've had my fair share of criminals for a while."

Pitch risked a fleeting smile.

"He's hardly a criminal; quite the opposite actually. He's a good man, Sanderson." He defended.

"A good man who asks criminals to steal things for him," Jack pointed out. Pitch finished shuffling a stack of papers, and seeming satisfied, he turned to face Jack.

"You know Jack, just because someone does something illegal, doesn't mean they're evil." Pitch explained, fishing inside his vest pocket for the small vile of dream sand. "It may be that the dream sand belonged to Sanderson, and it was taken from him. Maybe he asked me to steel it back. Would you still consider it criminal then?"

"No. But is that what happened?" Jack retorted. Pitch smiled, but did not humor Jack with a reply.

He gazed at Pitch's long, careful hands, as the grey man lowered the vile of sand into a small, velvet box. It shimmered against the light for a fleeting moment, before the box was snapped shut and placed on Pitch's desk. Jack didn't want to talk about trivial things like clients anyways. He wanted to talk about Pitch, and all the things he remembered hearing his torturers say about him. Last night had been a whirlwind of emotion, and Jack hadn't really been able to focus. Now that he could make a little more sense of everything, he found that he had questions. Questions that Jack knew Pitch would be reluctant to answer truthfully, but he had to try. He was naturally curious, and always would be.

"Pitch?"

The golden eyes glowed like fiery stars at the sound of Pitch's name, and Jack sensed a change in breathing as the man towered before him.

"Yes, Jack?"

He swallowed.

"I never really asked… but, why did those men think you were dead?"

He waited with bated breath, expecting Pitch to roll his eyes, or sneer irritatingly like he always did, but Pitch didn't do anything. Instead, he gave Jack a challenging glare, as though the man were testing him. Was he worthy to know the truth? Jack stared back, trying to show Pitch that he was. He had to play right into Pitch's hands in order to get what he wanted, and he wanted to know everything Pitch was hiding from him. No matter how much the man intimidated him, he was going to find out.

It seemed to be something Pitch enjoyed: long drawn out silence. He relished them, so as to build drama and intensity. He was never quick to do anything, but contemplative and patient; the exact opposite of Jack. To Jack, these pauses made his interactions with Pitch feel like chess. You had to think and strategize long and hard before you made a move. So they stayed that way; silent, and neither one backing down.

Then, Pitch inhaled to speak.

"Long ago, before you were born, my fleet and I were protectors of this world. We saved countless lives, and fought numerous battles together. Glory, fame, and wealth were showered upon us lovingly. We had one purpose: to maintain the peace. When I was still general of the fleet, I fell in love with a woman named Mahri, who we saved during one of our battles. I married her, and we built a family together.

I should have known that the battlefield was no place for a family. Shortly after, we had a daughter who we named Seraphina. I was obliviously happy and completely blind sighted to the fact that I still had a job to do. Then, one day, Mahri and Seraphina vanished without a trace. It was terrible, but curious. Whoever had taken them had left nothing behind; no clues, or signs of struggle. It was almost as if they had never existed. My entire universe was shattered, and I turned away from protecting the world so I could find them. I put forth all my efforts, sending out my men on week long expeditions, only for them to come back empty handed. I didn't give up, though. I refused to believe the worst: that my wife and daughter were dead.

Then, one day I received a letter. I will never forget it: black paper with a blue wax seal. It felt like I was holding danger in its tangible form. It was from someone anonymous, and they explained to me in great detail my predicament, and how they were responsible. From the letter, it sounded like they were gloating, and it infuriated me. My wife and daughter were still alive, it said, but just barely. They would be dead soon, unless I did as instructed. I had no leads, or information to go off of at that point, and I was desperate. So I begrudgingly agreed to this man's terms."

"What did he ask?" Jack pondered aloud, and hanging on Pitch's every word. This was truly fascinating to him. Pitch had loved someone? And he had been a Father? It struck a sympathetic nerve in Jack, and made him a bit nostalgic for home. Pitch allowed his gaze to drop from Jacks and he stared far off into the distance, as if recalling something painful.

"I had to meet him."

Just then, the door to Pitch's study burst open violently, and Jack all but fell out of the chair he was sitting in. His heart felt like it was stuck in his throat as he thought of returning criminals coming to torture him some more. But when he looked back, it was only one of Pitch's henchmen standing in the doorway; Simon, if Jack remembered correctly.

"Pitch, Mr. Sanderson has arrived."

Jack looked to Pitch, who immediately snapped from his trance, and exchanged his pained and dubious expression for one of business composure.

"Good. Send him in."

"Hold up," Jack protruded defensively, "you haven't finished telling me what happened!"

"Perhaps I will, someday Jack. But for now, we have a client. I would appreciate it if you didn't make me look bad." Pitch responded, sounding bored. This was the Pitch Jack knew: the annoying one.

Simon sidestepped properly, revealing a very short and stout man. He had gold hair that stuck up out of his head in thick spikes. He was pale, and wore a shimmering golden vest and shoes, along with an expensive golden pendant dangling around his fat neck. Looking up at the small man's face, Jack was surprised to see kindness in his eyes, and a warm smile that eased Jack's nerves away.

"Pitch," the man said, holding out his small arms in a kind gesture, "How nice to see you again!"

"And you, my good fellow," Pitch said, giving a slight bow. Sanderson waved his hand at the gesture.

"Please, no need to be so proper. It's only me."

He waddled into the room, whipping out a gold pocket watch from his vest, and snapping it open. Pitch shut the door.

"I'd assume you're on a tight schedule." Pitch said knowingly. The gold man's eyes twinkled.

"I can always make time for this. You said you had it?"

Pitch nodded and waltzed over to his desk, whipping out the velvet box proficiently. Sanderson took it gently, and snapped it open with a content sigh.

"Perfect. I can always count on you to do the job right, Pitch."

"Well, I did have help." Pitch admitted courteously. Until then, Jack was sitting in the chair quietly, watching the interaction between these two men. He could tell by their dialogue that they were acquaintances, or possibly good friends. Jack didn't really see Pitch as the "friendly" type, though, so he thought acquaintances was a better bet.

"Ah, yes. The little accomplice."

The man reminded Jack of a fat penguin as he hobbled over to the chair, and smiled boldly. "My name is Sanderson. A pleasure to finally meet you."

Jack beamed, and moved to shake the man's hand graciously, but was met with another wave of pain. He returned his arms to his side, grinning apologetically.

"I'm sorry sir. You find me at a bit of an inconvenience," he said regretfully.

"Oh dear. Pitch told me you weren't in the best condition. I'm so sorry," Sanderson replied, looking sincere. Jack gave Pitch a fleeting glance before cocking his head at the man in amusement.

"Why are you sorry?" Jack asked, "You didn't do anything."

"It was my idea when I asked Pitch to take the job to use a diversion. I explained the conditions under which the sand was protected, and he agreed with my plan. However, I had no idea that he would use an actual person."

The man appeared genuinely upset by what had happened and Jack felt touched. When Sanderson wasn't looking, he gave Pitch a glare, as if to say _see? This is how you're supposed to feel when you've almost gotten someone killed._

"It's alright. I'm alive, aren't I? What are a few scratches?" he said, and tried to hold up his arms for emphasis, but instantly regretted it. He bit his tongue, and his eyes welled with tears at the pain, but smiled like nothing was wrong.

"You're a brave young boy. Foolish, probably, but brave. I respect that. I hope Pitch is taking good care of you while you're his guest here."

"_Guest,_" Jack acknowledged, turning his attention back to Pitch.

In this moment, the two shared a sort of unspoken conversation. Pitch gave Jack a warning glare, but Jack raised an eyebrow appraisingly. Pitch nodded sharply in Sanderson's direction, implying that now was not the time, and Jack bitterly obliged, but only after he'd given Pitch a stern frown.

"Well, as Pitch already said, I am on a tight schedule. I must be off!" the short, stubby man declared. The moment he turned to face Pitch, the grey man's glare melted into a smile, and he gazed at Sanderson like everything was just perfect. Jack wanted to laugh, but decided now was not the time. "It was a pleasure meeting you mister…"

"Jack," Jack said, "It was good to meet you too, Mister Sanderson."

"Oh please," the gold man scoffed, "call me sandy. Only this one calls me Sanderson."

He jabbed a pale finger in Pitch's direction.

"Sandy is a ridiculous name for someone of your importance," Pitch explained.

"So is 'Pitch'." Sandy retorted. Jack allowed himself to laugh at that.

The three said their farewells, and Sandy exited the room from where he came. Pitch shut the study door with a satisfied sigh.

"I like him," Jack decided. Pitch gave him a mischievous smirk.

"I told you you would."

"You seemed like good friends," Jack voiced, "curious. I didn't really picture you for the kind to have any friends."

"Watch it, boy."

"How did you meet?" he pressed curiously. Pitch laughed, shaking his head in disbelief at the amount of questions this boy seemed to be able to conjure.

"I think you've heard enough about my past for one day."

"But I'm not finished-"

"Oh I know you're not," Pitch concurred, "but let's just revel in the mystery for a little bit, shall we?"


	12. Chapter 12

A little under 2 weeks were left.

Jack stayed in Pitch's study until his wounds were almost completely healed. For the first few days, it seemed as if they were only growing more and more painful. The muscles contracted around the cuts in an antagonizing fashion, attempting to heal them, but only making Jack feel worse. At one point, he even managed to contract a fever, but it broke within a few hours. Those were the worst days.

And somehow, they were also the best. Whether or not Pitch truly cared for the boy, he was always around more when Jack was hurting. Jack hated to be pitied, and he hated feeling weak, so in a way, he hated it when Pitch was around him like this. At the same time however, Pitch's presence made him feel safer, and happier; though Jack never let him know that. The man's gentle healing hands were soft and caressing, and Jack longed for them to touch the rest of his body. More and more, he found himself thinking inappropriate thoughts as Pitch tended to him. It was embarrassing because Pitch was always in the room when these ideas popped into Jack's head, and Jack knew Pitch had a sort of sixth sense about these things.

If Pitch ever knew what Jack was thinking, he never said a word. Ever since Sanderson had stopped by, he had been treating Jack with a bit more hospitality and courtesy. Though, that never stopped him from a quick snip at the boy every now and again. He couldn't seem to help himself, and Jack had to agree; their arguments seemed inevitable. Jack even began to enjoy the witty banter. He always enjoyed an opportunity to prove himself, whether it be through physical combat, or verbal spats.

It took a few days, but finally, Jack's wounds seemed to reach a point suitable enough to go un-bandaged. He moved his arms around graciously, only feeling a slight twinge whenever he raised them above his head. All that remained was freshly scared baby pink skin. Jack smiled to himself, even though underneath his content, he felt a bit disgruntled. Now he was going to have to move back to his regular quarters in the palace, and that meant he'd be away from Pitch. Ever since Pitch had started to tell the boy about his past, Jack's curiosity had grown to a point that was beyond rationality. It's what he thought about before he fell asleep and the first thing on his mind the next morning. Pitch was someone before he was a criminal… someone good. But something drastic had happened. What had made Pitch like this?

"Almost completely healed," Pitch admitted, admiring the scars left behind on Jack's porcelain skin. Jack didn't say anything, "so glad to know that I haven't lost my touch in the medical field."

"Yeah…" Jack said, "Thanks Pitch."

Jack knew Pitch had heard him, but for some reason, the man decided to ignore it.

"You may stay here for the remainder of the day so I can make sure everything is kosher, but tonight we will move you back to my room."

Jack bit the inside of his cheek, irritated.

"Yeah I figured."

"And in little more than a week, I will hand you over to my superior," he reminded firmly. Jack felt a twinge fear stir inside him.

"Why do you call him that?" he suddenly protruded out of the blue. It was something Jack had really thought about for the past few days.

"What do you mean?" Pitch asked.

"Why do you call him your 'superior'?"

Pitch turned, and gave Jack a questioning look.

"I thought it was clear that all clients that come to me are considered my-"

"No," Jack interrupted sternly, "no. You only ever referred to Sanderson as your client. Never your superior. So what's different about the guy you're handing me over to? Why is he more important?"

Pitch's poker face was uncanny, like a hard, unwavering stone. Jack knew he had caught him at an inconvenience and backed him into a corner; but Pitch hated showing weakness, just as Jack did.

"You're a bit too clever for my liking, Jack," Pitch hissed, his composure remaining stable, but his voice laced with danger. Jack was crossing a line he was never meant to touch, "From the moment I met you, I knew you were more intelligent than I gave you credit for."

"Don't try to change the subject," Jack snapped, his gut twisting, "answer the question."

Pause.

"I don't take orders from prisoners-"

"But you know me better than that," Jack retorted, "I'm not just any prisoner."

Another pause.

"He's my boss."

Jack's eyebrows shot up so high, he was sure that they disappeared into his hairline.

"Your… boss?" He repeated, "Pitch Black, criminal mastermind, has a boss?"

Pitch gave the boy a threatening look, and growled, "Don't you test me, Frost. Enough is enough. No more questions!"

Jack opened his mouth, but shut it again, knowing that arguing past this point would be a useless waste of energy. Pitch turned away from Jack, settling back into his comfortable silence.

The fire was out in Pitch's study, but Jack didn't mind. Over the past few days, Pitch had learned that Jack actually preferred the cold, and had stopped lighting it. But now, Jack wished it was there, just so there could be something to fill the void of silence.

So, Jack decided to fill it with his own thoughts.

Pitch thought Jack was intelligent, eh? Well, alright… he thought, let's put some of that intelligence to use.

Jack realized arguing wasn't going to get him what he wanted. He and Pitch could push and pull at one another until the oceans ran dry, and neither would budge. They were too stubborn… too persistent of a pair. They actually enjoyed arguing, and in the end, Jack would lose. Pitch always liked to remind him who was in charge, and Jack would probably just end up back in his quarters early. So he couldn't argue, no matter how much he wanted to.

But there was something he could do. Something he hadn't tried yet. Something he had thought about trying for a long time, but had been too fearful to do it. The idea made him… uncomfortable, but Jack knew how Pitch felt about him. All he had to do was bring those feelings to the surface, and once there, they would be much easier to manipulate. When he played it out in his head, it always went so well…

Jack pressed his arms tenderly against the armrests, and pushed himself to a standing position. He stared intently at the back of Pitch's figure, and began to take silent, small steps towards him. Jack wasn't trying to sneak up on Pitch, but he always found that the silence of his footsteps helped add to the dramatic effect. He continued to walk until he was mere inches away from Pitch's powerful presence. If he knew the boy was there, he did not acknowledge it. Pitch was much too busy scribbling something on a sheet of parchment hastily, a pair of reading glasses perched on the edge of his nose.

Jack didn't know what he was doing; he had never done something like this before. Pitch had always made the initial advances, but Jack knew that if he wanted to discover more about Pitch, he was going to have to try something. So, timidly, Jack placed a cold hand on the back of Pitch's spine. Immediately, Pitch ceased his writing, and his entire body tensed up. Jack had to remind himself to breath as he began to intrigue himself with the arc of Pitch's spine. The man had such an elegant posture that moved fluidly like water. He tried to take his time as he brushed over each crevice, and ridge, teasingly grazing his hand over through the fabric of Pitch's vest. Seeing as the grey man did not object to Jack's efforts, Jack boldly continued.

His hands moved over the spine, and began brushing circles over Pitch's upper back and shoulders. Jack was grateful that Pitch was bending over, otherwise he might not have been able to reach. The man was so tall, but Jack did his best not to let that intimidate him as he pressed on. He ran down his sides, around his lower back, and eventually, over his arms. Pitch's arms held Jack's most interest. His sleeves were rolled up messily, allowing Jack's fingers to dance along the bare skin there, feeling the curve of the lean muscle. Jack began to lose himself as he hesitantly explored the man before him, drinking in every touch that Pitch allowed, and every breath he drew in response. It was like reading a fascinating book, and Jack was completely hooked.

Jack skipped from Pitch's wrists to his waistline, and this was when he knew he was treading in dangerous territory. He began to feel prickles of sweat tickling his forehead. His first impulse was to completely rid Pitch of his trousers, but Jack felt that if he made any rash movements or decisions, Pitch would become defensive. Jack needed to take his time, because he knew that was what Pitch enjoyed. It was hard, but Jack was confident that he could control himself.

As he roamed across Pitch's waist, the man suddenly dropped his quill with a soft _plink_, and stood up straight, which meant that he was now almost a foot taller than Jack. Jack froze, unsure, but did not remove his hands.

To his utter delight, Jack felt Pitch's large fingers engulf his own. He removed them for a moment, only so he could turn around and stare boldly at the boy.

"You are _incessant_." He whispered, holding Jack's gaze in his own. Jack swallowed hard, deciding to ignore the insult. Pitch's eyes didn't show any signs of teasing, or malicious intent as they usually did. There were traces of hunger and lust that Jack noticed, (for he dreamed about Pitch looking at him like that), but it was mostly captivation and curiosity. Pitch grasped Jacks hand gently, his hands just as tender as when he was caring for Jack's wounds. Jack smiled.

"So I've been told," he replied. Pitch grinned.

"I know what you're doing," he continued, trying to lead Jack from the path he was so determined to follow.

"I hope so," Jack murmured. He wasn't trying to trick Pitch. He was just trying to use something that was already there.

"Jack…" Pitch mumbled richly, caution lining his tone as Jack stepped in, closing the space between them. Jack knew Pitch was telling him not to do this, but he didn't care.

"Just don't," he said, pressing his hands lightly to Pitch's chest so as to support himself. "Don't."

Pitch willingly obeyed Jack's request, and didn't move an inch. Jack took a deep, silent breath, before he rose up on his toes, and kissed him.

It was hot. Jack's lips were scalding as they made contact with Pitch's, but not in the way you would expect. The heat was lovely. It made Jack melt into the kiss, his muscles turning to mush. He didn't even care that Pitch didn't respond right away. The feeling was just so blissful, and so heart wrenching…

Jack knew Pitch was trying to decide what to do. He had obviously expected this, but for some reason, he was still a bit shocked by the daring move. Eventually, Pitch gave in, wrapping his long arms around Jack's smaller figure, throwing caution to the wind.

This kiss wasn't something Jack had ever experienced before. Usually, their interactions were hot and passionate; hungry and lustful. This kiss was eager, but sweet. It felt gentle, to Jack, like the two of them were trying to preserve the moment. It was unlike anything Jack had ever seen Pitch do, and it kindled a kind of euphoric feeling inside of him. Pitch griped Jack tightly, not wanting to let him go this time. There was nothing to interrupt them: no fairies, or injuries to be wary of. It was just the two of them, alone.

Pitch moved a soft hand up to Jacks hair, and began to fondle it. It felt wonderful, tickling the nerves along Jack's skull. He sighed contently into Pitch's mouth, making the man snarl possessively. The loud noise startled Jack a bit, and he instinctively tried to withdraw, but in a fraction of a second, Pitch had snagged Jack's lips in his teeth and reeled him back in. It all happened so fast, but the spark that ignited in that moment grew into a roaring flame. As expected, the hunger between the two grew tremendously, and Pitch began dominating the situation, as he often ended up doing. He leaned into Jack, who was forced to curve his spine backwards in response. Pitch moved his hand from Jack's hair, to the back of his neck, stroking the tender skin there. Jack shuddered.

"Cold?" Pitch purred as they parted, continuing the same motion. Jack shook his head.

"No… It's hot," he complained absentmindedly. Pitch chuckled darkly.

"Good," he hissed into Jack's skin before planted soft, succulent kisses in the crook of his neck. Jack's breathing was now ragged and uneven as he closed his eyes at the sensation running through his body. Pitch continued along Jack's shoulders, then back up his neck, and across his jaw, grazing the membrane with his sharp teeth.

Jack wanted this… he needed this. His body shook with anticipation, and he just barely managed to gasp the words, "Don't stop… don't stop…"

Pitch's response was a quick bite into Jack's flesh, making him yelp surprisingly. The noise made Pitch smile evilly. Jack could feel the turn up of his lips on his skin.

Slowly, Jack felt himself being lowered to the floor, but at the last second, Pitch released him with a growl. Jack didn't have time to cry out before he hit the ground, feeling a dull ache shoot through his body, and then fade. Pitch followed soot, pinning his hands on either side of Jack, and looking down on him with an eagerness that made Jack nervously speechless. His eyes rolled enticingly over the boy's body, and the porcelain skin of Jack's cheeks flushed red.

"You have a death wish," the man hissed, his golden eyes flashing like a predator looking at its prey. This was the part where Jack rebutled with something witty and thoughtful, but as his eyes fluttered shut at the warmth of Pitch's body, all he could manage was "No I don't-"

He was cut off by Pitch's slow hands prodding at Jack's shirt, un-tucking it from his trousers. The pads of his fingers were scalding as they ran over Jack's torso, leaving trails of fire across the delicate skin. Pitch's gaze only seemed to become more intense as he carefully observed Jack's reaction to the touch, apparently pleased as Jack moaned through closed lips. Inch by inch, the hands moved the thin, white fabric of Jack's tunic up his stomach until his abdomen was completely exposed. With a feral growl, Pitch literally ripped the shirt away, and tossed it across the room. It seemed, to Jack, like his entire body had become paralyzed as he lay there, allowing Pitch to touch him, and caress him just like he had always imagined.

Humming as he moved down Jack's chest, Pitch's fingers toyed over the slight ridges of muscle. He leisurely began to press down on Jack in a dominating fashion, and giving the boy a teasing look, he pressed those same lips against the small pink nobs that were Jack's nipples. Jack bit his tongue, and tried very hard to maintain his composure. A defensive side in him insisted that he shouldn't succumb to Pitch before Pitch did. That same argumentative drive tried to persuade him that his pride was worth more than whatever pleasure Pitch was giving him…

But it was so… hard. Jack felt small waves of ecstasy roll through him at every flick and twist of Pitch's tongue. It was nothing to get him too excited, but enough to coax out a few moans of desire. Pitch was clearly skilled in the art of seduction: a fact that Jack could seldom forget. Jack was so timid, and unsure… he didn't know much about love, other than what his parents had taught him. He had never prepared for this.

But as he said before… he wanted it.

"You taste delicious, Jack," Pitch crooned, artfully licking up the sides of Jack's pectorals, and closing his mouth around his collarbones.

"Y-you're…. t-teasing me," Jack hissed, squirming underneath the grey man. Pitch placed a firm hand over Jack's heart, steadying him.

"You wanted to play this game," he said softly, "so we're going to play it my way."

Jack wanted to snarl, but all he could manage was a submissive whimper. Pitch gave him an appraising stare before bringing his hands down to the bulge in Jack's pants. Jack took a sharp intake of breath. Even though it felt amazing, he was beginning to wonder what he had gotten himself into. Pitch moved over the patch in soft circles for a moment of two before shimmying down, and gently undoing the buttons. Jack propped himself up onto his elbows, and watched, his chest rising and falling in anticipation.

The pants and undergarments came off all at once, and soon they too were flung across the room. Pitch clearly didn't like to waste time with clothing. Jack was doing his best not to think about how nude he was just then. He truly hated it. The susceptibility of the situation made him even more prideful and unsure of this decision. He risked a glance up at Pitch, and cringed a little. The man was watching at Jack like a piece of meat that he couldn't wait to devour. He reared up on his knees, and began to undo his own clothing, maintaining the gaze between him and Jack the whole time. Jack didn't move a muscle, (not that he could if he wanted to), and tried to lock his jaw confidentially to show Pitch that he wasn't as nervous as he felt.

Little by little, as Pitch's clothing came off, and as it did, Jack's angst began to melt away. The developed muscle beneath Pitch's tunic and vest was stunning. It was almost like Pitch was a rock, beautifully chiseled into a statue of a Greek god. Jack's jaw fell a bit slack. Pitch couldn't help but smirk a little, and removed whatever other clothing remained on his body.

Jack felt torn between wanting to look, and not wanting to look. In the end, his own lust won him over, and his blue eyes fell down to the long length between Pitch's legs. He licked his lips distractedly; a movement that caught Pitch's eyes.

He fell forward onto his hands, forcing Jack to lean back nervously.

"Get on your knees, Jack," he purred into the boy's ear seductively.

Jack's own length instantly hardened at the words, making him shudder again. He willingly turned his body face-down, and Pitch's gentle hands returned to touching his body.

He ran them down the edge of Jack's waist before roaming them along the curve of his ass. The touch startled Jack a bit, and he inhaled abruptly. Pitch continued stroking and fondling until his fingers were just outside Jack's entrance. This was when he paused. Jack waited with baited breath, unsure of what Pitch would do.

Then, something dived inside of him. It felt wondrous, and blissful. Jack cried out at the amazing touch, but then, there was something else mixed the pleasure … pain.

It wasn't sharp or brutal like the knives had been when Jack was being tortured, but it was there, and it was uncomfortable.

"Breathe Jack," Pitch consoled, sounding somewhat in control. Jack did so. He breathed through the agony, trying to readjust to it.

Then, as time passed, the pain subsided, and pleasure was all that remained. The hands started to move faster, and Pitch lifted up one leg to prop on the outside of Jack's thigh as he pressed on, adding a new finger every few moments or so. It was overwhelming, and Jack was positive that he had never felt anything so heavenly in his life.

"I think… I think I'm gonna…" Jack gasped, the edges of his vision beginning to blur and blacken. Vibrations of elation flew through him like breaking waves; crashing, then rising up again. He could feel it coming… he closed his eyes…

Then, Pitch withdrew, leaving behind an emptiness that left Jack teetering on the edge. He turned his head back, and growled frustratedly "what the hell was that?"

The empowering look that Jack received in turn squandered any anger that Jack felt.

"Oh no, If we're going to do this," he explained, his voice thickly coated in lust as he pressed his chest into Jack's back, "We have to do it together."

He gave the boy a slow, savory kiss along the muscle of his upper back before turning his attention back to Jack's lower quarters. A warm hand snaked its way along his pelvis bone, and Jack's breath caught in his throat as he felt that same hand grasp his member firmly, elating the nerves of pleasure that shot through him like lightning. Pitch leaned back in as Jack's lungs unwillingly started to work again, but barely. Short puffs of air shot from his nostrils excitedly, and his chest was still having spasms, struggling to breath properly.

"Tell me what you want Jack," he said, Pitch's hot breath lacing the outer edges of Jack's ear. He leaned forward so he could speak to him, which only meant that his sex was playfully stroking the edges of Jack's entrance. Jack couldn't help but let out a small whimper.

"P-pitch…" he breathed.

"Tell me," the man egged. By some god forsaken miracle, Jack managed to collect whatever courage and composure that he still had, and turned his head in the direction of that deep, seductive voice.

"I want you to stop being a prick," he inhaled.

Pitch released a breathy, warm chuckle, admiring the feisty nature of the boy, before thrusting into him.

Jack saw stars.

"Oh…" he moaned loudly,

The pain had returned, but it was much more subdued now. Jack felt full. He felt complete. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he tried to adjust his body around Pitch inside him, practically begging for him to move.

Pitch, getting the hint, leaned against Jack for support as he began to pulsate at a reasonable speed. The movement felt strange, but good. Jack wasn't sure what to feel for a moment or two, but Pitch's hand was still gripping his length, ensuring that the boy was receiving a great deal of pleasure…

And that's when Pitch changed his angle slightly, and Jack's entire world shattered before his eyes. He practically screamed, and clenched around Pitch as he hit that same spot over and over again. It was an earth- crushing pleasure, and Jack was sure that nothing had ever felt more right in his entire existence. It was perfect… Pitch was perfect.

Jack didn't need long, what with this perfect man working him so expertly. His entire vision went black for a moment as he peaked, letting himself ride the feeling like an intense roller-coaster, before the euphoria eventually diminished. When he could see again, he could feel Pitch coming inside him, a warm, wet liquid filling him, and leaving him affectionately content. Though, he couldn't really hear anything. He thought he could make out Pitch saying his name, but Jack was so drunk off what they had done, that he was much too disoriented to make sure of anything. He allowed himself a moment to just lie there, absorbing the shock, and appreciating the momentary warmth. Jack felt Pitch collapse on top of him, the muscle of the man pinning him to the floor. More kisses were distributed along his neck, and as Jack slowly returned to reality, he realized that Pitch was indeed saying his name.

"Jack… Jack… Jack…" he crooned over and over between each kiss. Jack weakly tried to roll onto his back, and Pitch obliged, so that they could look at one another. Jack felt completely drained, but he knew that he had to stay awake so he could ask Pitch his questions… so he could know…

"Pitch," he mumbled, his voice sounding slurred, and tired, so he shook his head violently, and tried again. "Pitch?"

Pitch shifted his body weight so that he was no longer on top of the boy, but propped up on his side. Proportionately, this made Pitch appear even larger than Jack, and from here, he could look down upon him with ease. He didn't say anything, which Jack took as a sign to continue.

"I… you and I…" he stammered. _Come on Jack, _he thought to himself, _pull yourself together! Ask him!_

Pitch snickered darkly, drawing light circles over Jack chest, just as he had been doing to Pitch earlier.

"I shouldn't have done that," the man spoke with a casual tone. Jack felt a momentary surge of disappointment: had Pitch not enjoyed himself? Did Jack do something wrong?

Then he realized… Pitch was upset with himself.

"Don't… Don't you freaking dare," Jack retorted, trying to prop himself up as well, only to realize that he was too weak. So he stayed on the floor, looking up into the golden irises as he spoke. "I wanted this. This was for me. Who cares if it was a mistake?"

Pitch smiled.

"I do. And, in some ways, it really wasn't a mistake. In other ways, it most certainly was."

He looked sad, Jack noticed. This struck Jack as odd, because Pitch wasn't the kind of individual to get sad, but then, he supposed he still had a lot to learn about Pitch. He returned the stare sympathetically, but Pitch wasn't done.

"I like you, Jack," he continued, "and that, in itself, is a mistake. I shouldn't like my prisoners… I can't like them. It's impossible."

"You know," Jack replied, "A lot of things that have happened to me over these past few weeks I used to think were impossible. Then you came along, and all these impossibilities became possible. I guess, you and I just… have that kind of effect on the universe. We make things possible."

Pitch stuck out his lower lip as he pondered on this, nodding allegedly.

"We also make things more difficult than they need to be," Pitch pointed out, stretching out a hand to fondle Jack's hair again. Slowly, his thoughts began to fade at the relaxing touch, but then he remembered.

"P-pitch…" he yawned, "will you tell me more… about who you were?"

Jack could feel his eyes flickering shut, but he jammed them open as best he could whist waiting for a response. Pitch thought in silence for a bit.

"I suppose." He sighed, twisting the strands of white around his index finger idly.

"P-P-promise." Jack demanded. Pitch chuckled.

"I promise, Jack. Perhaps, when you awaken."

"I'll h-hold you to that," Jack mumbled, as he let his eyes finally close, and warm darkness swept him away to the land of dreams.


	13. Chapter 13

Jack dreamt that he was locked in a box. It was a small, constricting box that had no room for movement or air, and his head kept hitting the roof. The walls were thick and made of some kind of impenetrable metal. Jack kicked and screamed for help, placing his hands on all sides and pushing, or using his feet to shove the walls away. Nothing worked. It was dark and cramped, and all Jack could do was curl up in a ball and shrivel away into a corner, trying to create as much room to breathe as he could.

Then, the box began to change. It stretched out and became longer, so Jack could extend his legs. The roof rose so that he could sit up properly without fear of hitting his skull on the ceiling. Soon, the box was as roomy and spacious as a small apartment, and Jack was able to breathe properly again. He relaxed and began to calm himself with each inhale and exhale. He walked, spun around, and did whatever he pleased in that lovely, spacious little box. It was quite pleasant.

But, after a while, not even the comfortability of the box could distract Jack from the real problem; he was still trapped inside.

He awoke with a start, his eyes flying open, and his white hair clinging to his wet forehead. Jack found that his back was pressed to the hard floor, and as he sat up, he could feel the sticky sweat that had gathered there. He wasn't in a box. He was in Pitch's study. Everything was fine…

"Good morning," said Pitch, his voice deep and musty as he placed his face close to Jack's right ear. Jack laughed nervously, trying to shake off the feeling that the nightmare had given him, easing himself into Pitch. Now that he was back in the real world, he started to feel better, for he was going to get exactly what he wanted: he was going to learn more about Pitch.

"Morning," Jack yawned. Pitch ran a hand along the tense muscle in Jack's shoulders before casually saying,

"You had a dream, didn't you?"

Jack scoffed disbelievingly, amazed at how Pitch knew.

"Yeah… but it wasn't a big deal." He replied, shrugging it off. There was no box… it was only Pitch.

"You know," Pitch said, "dreams are funny little things. They expose us to who we really are, and divulge truths that we refuse to acknowledge. I don't think I've ever had a dream that 'wasn't a big deal'."

Jack swallowed.

"Well this one was, trust me," Jack insisted. Pitch gave him a knowing look before he returned to busying himself with the beautifully pale skin of Jack's back. The boy sighed.

"I want to hear more about you," Jack asserted, "like you promised."

Pitch tsked, and moved his hands so that his fingers were digging into Jack's muscle therapeutically. The small massage made Jack throw his head back and moan.

"I really don't think that's the best idea, Jack," Pitch said, "I, personally, would like to hear more about you."

Jack's eyes popped open, and he turned his head, a very serious look on his face.

"Oh no, you promised. You're not allowed to back out now."

Pitch looked slightly put out as he pressed his hands over his eyelids in a tired manner.

"Jack, I thought about it and… I don't think you know what you're asking for."

"I think I do," Jack pressed, "and I didn't think you were a man to go back on your word."

Pitch gave him an annoyed look.

"You might despise me."

"More than I already do?"

"Jack…"

"Pitch."

They were still fairly close together from the previous night, so as they glared at each other stubbornly, their noses were almost touching. The tension in the air was scrutinizing.

Pitch released a quick puff of air, frustratedly. Jack's own examination of the man told him that Pitch was holding back for another reason, other than upsetting Jack.

"Are you… afraid?" Jack realized, trying to make his voice soft so as not to startle the man with his words. Pitch's eyes widened at Jack's accusation, clearly not expecting him to reach that conclusion.

"I… I'm fine," he decided slowly. "If you really must know…"

Jack nodded eagerly, pressing his hands to the floor and staring at Pitch like a curious child. So, without further ado, Pitch began.

"So, this criminal who had stolen my wife and child wanted to meet me. Believe it or not, this wasn't the first time that a criminal had wanted to talk face to face with me, so I agreed to his terms. He insisted I come alone, but I disregarded such a request. I took along two of my best men, which was more than enough protection.

The place where we met was some sort of underground tavern to the north. It was… beautifully constructed, as well as strategically accurate. I must admit that I found myself impressed. Finally, we reached what could only be called the throne room. The moment I walked it, I saw my wife chained to one of the walls. She was… terrified to say the least, and Mirah was never scared. She was the bravest woman I ever knew, so when I realized how frightened she was, I knew this was much bigger than anything we had ever faced before.

This man… I found myself somewhat taken aback as I approached him, because he was leering at me in a most unpleasant way. He addressed me, and told me who he was."

"Who?" Jack asked, but Pitch shook his head and continued on, disregarding Jack's perfectly reasonable question.

"He explained to me that he had been observing me and my men for years, and decided that I would be a good ally to have on his side, so he made a proposition for me: join him, and he would spare my wife.

I got angry. I told him he was crazy, and ordered my two best men to attack.

I will spare you the details of the battle, but to make a long story short, my men were dead in seconds. Never had I seen such a skilled attack, and that was saying something. My army operated in the shadows, so to have been beaten at my own game… it was devastating.

The man looked at me, still leering unpleasantly, and told me that I had just made a very big mistake. He called for my wife to be brought over to him and… and he…"

At this point, Pitch was biting his tongue, trying to stay in control. Jack was aghast at the devastating turn that this story was taking, and tried to grab the grey man's hand comfortingly. Pitch didn't pull away, but he didn't squeeze back either. He seemed to retreat into his cold, bitter shell that Jack had tried so hard to lure him from, but he didn't stop talking.

"She died right in front of me, and I could do nothing. I was disarmed, and helpless. I begged the man to please release her, and I would do whatever he wanted, but it was too late.

After he _threw _her body to the side, I vowed that I would murder him. I shouted to the world that one day, his blood would stain my hands for what he did. He only laughed, and told me now that I saw he was a man of his word, I would do wisely to think on his proposition, or my daughter would meet the same fate."

Pitch paused, trying to regain his composure so he could continue. Jack didn't let go of his hand.

"I couldn't risk it. I didn't know where Seraphina was, or how I could save her, so I gave in. I agreed to his terms so long as he left my daughter alone.

I asked what would become of my army, and the man said that they would all die too. Not wanting any of my men to suffer the same fate as my guards, I convinced him that it wasn't necessary. Without their general, the regime would fall to pieces anyway. So, I worked a little magic, and became dead, sparing the lives of my friends. I had unwillingly fallen into the world of crime.

And, you might think badly of me for saying this, but after a while I… I began to enjoy it. The thrill of thieving was like a drug, and I couldn't get enough. Already trained to maneuver through shadows, I was an expert. There wasn't anything I couldn't do.

But every so often, I thought of my daughter. I asked this man, what had become of her? He always insisted to me that she was in good hands, and they were just keeping her locked away to make sure I didn't go back on my promise. So I kept at it, until I became the most successful criminal mastermind in the field."

Jack tried his best to comfort Pitch as he talked. He leaned into the man and wrapped his slender arms around his warm torso, pressing his cheek against the skin. Pitch seemed desperate for something to cling to, his words laced with pain, so he gave in to Jack's attempt at comfort, responding inattentively.

"All the while I hated this man. I hated him so much that, one day, I figured I might die of hatred. But I couldn't try anything until I knew where my daughter was, or else he would kill her. She was the only thing that kept me going. Even though after a time, I thought he must have already done away with her. At that point, I hadn't seen her in three years…

He even had the nerve… the absolute nerve to try and give away one of his daughters to me. The fact that he even had offspring was just revolting. I was forced into the marriage, bitterly obliging, and all I could think about was Mirah… Mirah, who he had slaughtered right before my eyes.

What I did next was something I'm not proud of. I was driven into madness by my anger and detestation of this man, so I … killed my bride. At that point in my life, I was in a dark place, and even murder didn't faze me as much as it once had. It took all my cunning and skill to make it look like an accident, and almost everyone bought it; however, He never seemed to quite believe my story. It took a long while before he began to trust me once more, but he never introduced me to any of his kin again."

Jack listened, drinking in the worlds, feeding his mind with the images of a younger Pitch; a Pitch who had killed someone… a Pitch who was broken. Eventually, he sat up, keeping his arms wrapped around the grey man. He met his eyes, studying him.

"He's your superior, isn't he?" Jack asked, connecting the pieces together in his mind. Pitch hung his head.

"Yes."

"He's the one you're handing me over to."

"I have no choice."

Jack ran a soft hand down Pitch's pectorals soothingly.

"You always have a choice," Jack reprimanded. Pitch opened his mouth, his expression sadder than Jack had ever seen it. He seemed pained to force the next words from his mouth.

"He's offering me my daughter back."

Jack gasped softly.

"In the beginning, I had refused to kidnap you." Pitch explained, "I said that this was the last straw, and I would need proof that Seraphina was alive before I didn't anything else for this man. He said that he could do better than that; he would give her back to me. All I had to do was bring you to him."

Jack's jaw fell open and he looked away, trying to understand.

"That's what you're trading me for," he understood. Pitch didn't respond.

"After all these years working for this man in the shadows, you never figured out where Seraphina was hidden?" Jack prodded.

"Never. I have… tried, believe me. His palace is the only place that I could never maneuver through unnoticed. He is the best of the best. Trying to break in there would be suicidal for me, as well as my daughter."

Jack rolled his tongue around in his mouth, trying to think of something… anything…

"Pitch I… I'm so sorry… I had no idea," he stammered inconsolably, his heart reaching out to the man, but unsure of how to help. "But he has to have a weakness of some kind… something you could use!"

Pitch stared into the distance pensively, his eyes blank. He kept his grip on Jack, but not because he needed the comfort, but because he needed something to ground him from these terrible memories.

"Nothing. He is… an unwavering figure of power. Like stone. I have thought of everything… I have tried everything… and every time he gets the better of me. Each failure only puts my daughter in more danger."

Jack found it hard to believe that this "superior" had no weaknesses. Everyone had a weakness. That was one thing he learned while growing up.

"What about his children?" Jack asked desperately, "we could use them against him!"

Pitch chuckled darkly under his breath.

"He doesn't care about his children. He doesn't care about anybody but himself. We could kill off all of them, and it would only give him more of an incentive to kill us. He doesn't love Jack. That's the only explanation that I could find during my long years of servitude to him."

"What kind of person doesn't care about his kids?" Jack said, aghast.

"A truly twisted one."

A melancholy silence fell onto them both. It felt heavy and dark, and then Jack realized it was because it was held down with hopelessness. Never had he ever thought that this man was the same man who kidnapped him. Perhaps there were two Pitch's, and Jack was finally getting to see the one that Pitch kept so well guarded.

And to be frank, it scared Jack a little.

"Pitch," he tried again, "please, let me help you. We can… find out where your daughter is somehow. That's all that matters right? Once you have her, this whole thing can end."

"No Jack!" Pitch snapped, removing his arms from the boy, "No, don't you understand? Nothing will work! There's nothing I can do except give him what he wants!"

"But Pitch-"

"No! You aren't comprehending this! I must play his game, and play it by his rules! Nothing else will get me to her… nothing…"

Jack leaned away, retreating from the cold attitude that he knew was just Pitch's response to fear. But it didn't make Jack feel very welcome.

"So that's it then?" he pressed incredulously, "You're just going to give me up, and let him win?"

The tense atmosphere was cruel, and biting. Jack hated this. He hated feeling so put off by Pitch. The harsh, unforgiving walls were secured back in place, and it almost felt like the two were back to square one, even though just a few moments ago they had been so blissfully happy. Pitch couldn't even really look at Jack properly anymore.

"There's no other option," he repeated, "In a few days' time, you will be moved to the palace of my superior. He will have you, and I will have my daughter."

Jack bit the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. He tried to squash the fear in him as he thought about the dark prospect that was his future. The past few weeks had been so action-packed and distracting that Jack didn't really have time to dwell on the fact that he was still, indeed, a prisoner.

Just like his dream: no matter how comfortable he got, he was still trapped inside.

"If that's how it has to be," Jack begrudgingly agreed, trying to hide how he really felt about being traded away. He knew Pitch had a good reason for doing so, and he tried to sympathize with him, but there was no stopping the hurt that Jack felt when he realized that he really didn't mean as much to Pitch as he thought he did. This was still a power play, and Pitch was still his capturer.

"Yes," Pitch said simply, and rose up from the carpeted floor. Jack followed suit, trying to keep his dignity as he shuffled around for his clothes that Pitch had flung aside. Once he found them, he threw them on messily, not really caring if his tunic was inside-out, or that his pants were backwards. A heavy weight had settled in Jack's stomach, and made it feel like he was slowly drowning in himself. He ached with a kind of numbing sadness that made him feel sick.

He didn't want to stay in Pitch's study anymore. He felt terrible as he thought it, but he really didn't want to be anywhere near Pitch at the moment.

"I'll be heading back now," Jack announced carefully, wondering how Pitch would react. To his dismay, the man showed no emotion at these words.

Was it almost like none of the last few hours had happened at all?

Hot red fury shot through Jack's veins, turning his sympathy cold. He didn't care that Pitch was in pain, or that he was probably only acting this way because Jack had triggered something deep inside of him. Jack felt mistreated, and tossed aside. He felt indignant and betrayed.

"Maybe you were right," Jack said spitefully, "This whole thing was a mistake."

And even though they were words birthed by anger, Jack knew that there was quite a bit of unfortunate truth behind them.


	14. Chapter 14

Ice pick gingerly picked at the skin on the back of Jack's neck, trying to coax him from his facedown position on the bed. He _wasn't_ crying, oh no, but Jack had never before felt so empty and hopeless in his life. All the fun and happiness had been drained from his soul, leaving him a cold, hard shell. Ice picks attempts at comfort were ignored as Jack stared off into the distance, his blue eyes empty.

The little fairy had grown increasingly worried, to the point where she basically attacked him with her beak in order to get him to move, but even the sharp pinches of pain didn't work. So, she flopped down next to Jack's body on the bed, and burrowed herself into the crook of his neck, almost like she was hugging him. Only then did Jack respond to the sudden cold resting on his flesh, and he slowly sat up, cupping ice pick into his hands.

"You shouldn't be here," was all he said, "what's going to happen when Pitch gives me away? What will he do with you?"

Ice pick looked at him with her wide eyes, and crossed her wings indignantly. Jack sighed loudly.

"You can't come with me. Regardless of how I feel, Pitch would be a much better option than where I'm going."

Ice pick almost seemed to give Jack a judgmental look, ruffling her bright blue feathers stubbornly, before sticking her beak in the air, and flying out of Jack's hands. He managed a small, pained laugh.

"There's nothing I can say to convince you, is there?"

Ice pick flopped down on the bed with a tiny thump, as if to say she was here to stay. Jack swallowed hard, not even bothering to fight her. At least he had one friend here.

The reason Jack was so down on himself was that today was, unfortunately, the day. Careful calculations in his head told him that his three weeks were up, and no time would be wasted in moving him. Though, the time he had spent alone in Pitch's room made it feel much shorter than it actually was, what with the distracting knob of angst constantly twisting around in his stomach.

_I need to figure out how to escape, _he sometimes thought to himself, only to have his conscious counter the argument with _you wouldn't get far, so what's the point? Besides, if you're gone, Pitch's daughter gets killed. Do you really want to be responsible for the death of the one thing he loves most?_

He didn't want to make it harder for Pitch; really he didn't! Jack wanted Pitch to get his daughter back. He wanted Pitch to be happy, but Jack was selfish, and he wanted to be happy as well. What he really wanted was Pitch to be happy because of _him_; because he was the only thing Pitch needed in his life.

God, he wanted to stay.

The future was inevitable. In a few mere hours, Simon, or Edgar, or one of those two blundering guards would come for him, and if Jack fought, they would just chuck him over their shoulder like they always did. He could kick and scream and struggle all he wanted, but in the end, what was it worth? He couldn't fight this destiny that had been forced onto him. He should try for the sake of his dignity, but after what had happened with Pitch a few days ago, Jack had little dignity left anyways. What did it matter?

Sinking into that familiar cage of depression that he was so used to, Jack eased himself back into the sheets, trying to imagine a world where things might have gone differently. Pitch would show up at Jack's cotillion with the sole intention of marrying him, and even bring along his daughter, who was not captured, but traveling the world with her father and his army. Pitch would ask Jack to dance, and the two of them would walk out onto the floor. Pitch would snag Jack's waist and reel him in, just like he always did. Jack would snap at the man, only to have him snap back. Then, before they could dive further into the argument, Pitch would swoop in, and kiss the boy. Jack's tongue would burn with the fiery passion that flared between them, and his legs would go numb from the intensity of Pitch's lips.

Over the past few days in solitude, Jack had reached a revelation: marriage really wasn't as bad as he had made it out to be. He came to this conclusion because he had often thought about what it would be like to be married to Pitch, and decided that it wouldn't have been so bad. To be frank, Jack actually liked the idea more than he cared to admit.

Jack curled into a ball, clutching the small ice fairy to his chest, and easing away his pain with his fantasies. Maybe, if he wished hard enough, they would become a reality, and take him away from this dreadful world.

* * *

Jack had not been to the surface world since he assisted Pitch with his crime, and he was so happy to finally breathe fresh air again, the he didn't even care that it was raining. In fact, the piercing water droplets that stung his skin made him feel a little bit better. Edgar and Simon were both escorting him out, clutching Jack by his upper arms, but Jack wasn't struggling. He tilted his face upwards so as to feel the wetness that cooled his heated cheeks, and closed his eyes, figuring that this would be the last time he would be outside for a while.

Then, without warning, he was flung into some kind of carriage. Jack tripped and stumbled as the door was shut firmly behind him. He glared through the window at the two guards, and brushed his shirt off in a dignified manner, baring his teeth bitterly.

Only when he turned his head did Jack notice the tall shadowy figure sitting in the far left corner…

He bit his lip, unsure of which emotion to feel at that moment. Anger, perhaps? He wasn't really angry at Pitch anymore; so much as he was angry with himself. Maybe hurt? No, Jack scoffed, he didn't want to show Pitch how vulnerable he was. He would have to be stronger than that.

Jack settled on a cold, reserved exterior. He felt nothing. There was nothing to feel.

He moved his feet slowly, refusing to look at Pitch as he sat down at the opposite end of the vehicle, and it lurched to a start. Jack focused on gazing out the window at the droplets of water trickling down the glass like tears, and watched as the world rolled by.

The silence shared between them wasn't awkward or understanding, but laced with sorrows and bitter antipathies. Pitch didn't even recognize Jack's presence; as if he hadn't even entered the carriage at all, and if Jack hadn't felt so emotionless right then, he might have been royally pissed off. But, just as he'd said, he felt nothing. He clutched his knuckles in his lap, trying his best to act aloof.

Jack didn't know how much time it would take to reach this superiors palace, but he hoped it wouldn't be long.

He didn't know what he had expected… of course Pitch was going traveling them! He was the tradesman, after all. Jack just figured that maybe the man would have his own carriage. After all- as Pitch had reminded him many times- Jack was the prisoner… the merchandise, and Pitch was the capturer.

So, why would they travel together?

Perhaps Pitch didn't trust Jack, and thought he would try to escape. Jack actually allowed himself to smile at that thought. If he wasn't so down, he probably would pull a stunt like that, but lucky for Pitch Jack had all but given up on life. This superior would probably kill him eventually after he'd gotten whatever it was he wanted from Jack anyways. From the way Pitch had described him, he didn't expect anything less.

The harsh raindrops hitting the roof of the carriage was the only noise filling the void, and then, surprisingly, Pitch spoke.

"Once we arrive, do not speak unless you are spoken to. Do not look anyone in the eye, and try to appear as submissive as possible. The more obedient you are, the more likely it is you'll live another day," he said, and Jack tried to make it seem like he didn't care, but he found that Pitch's deep, soothing voice was breaking through his wall of apathy. "When we get inside, I will do all the talking. You have a tendency to be rash, and foolish, so I must implore you to try and not to do anything stupid."

Jack wanted to laugh and scream at the same time. He couldn't respond… he wouldn't…

"Jack…" Pitch started gently, "I'm counting on you not to divulge to my superior what happened between us."

Slowly but surely, the tantalizing nature of Pitch's requests broke through Jack's depression, and reared up his prideful defenses. Biting his tongue and grinding his teeth did no good; the anger he felt was like a sitting duck inside of him, brewing anticipatingly.

"If that's all you're worried about, Pitch," he said indifferently, his tone laced with offense, "then, fine. I won't say a word."

He could see from the corner of his eye Pitch's body relax back into the cushions of the seat, clearly much less worried now. So that was all he cared about? His superior finding out about what they did?

Jack tried to understand; Pitch had to get rid of any compromising evidence so as to better his daughter's chances of survival. That was all this was about: his daughter.

As Jack had said, he wanted Pitch to be happy, and if his daughter was going to be the thing that made him happiest, than why couldn't Jack just accept that?

"Thank you," the grey man said. Jack gave a curt nod in his direction, but still refused to look his way. He was trying his hardest to maintain this silent treatment, but since Jack had never been one to enjoy silence, it was rather difficult.

Somehow, he managed, because for the rest of the carriage ride, there were no more exchanged words.

Jack wanted to yell at Pitch for being so insensitive.

But he also wanted to say he understood.

He itched to hurt Pitch in some way.

But he also wanted to kiss him.

These were disturbing bipolar feelings that Jack was getting frustrated with, and he was surprised that he hadn't done anything rash yet.

Finally, just when Jack was considering saying something, the carriage staggered to a sudden halt, mimicking the movements of his heart.

Pitch was graceful as he pushed the door open, and got out as silently as possible. Jack watched him leave, though he wasn't sure whether or not Pitch saw him looking. Instead of following, Jack remained where he was, buying himself more time as he waited for someone to open the door for him.

No one did; at least, not right away. Jack heard some mumbles coming from the other side of the carriage that buzzed through the thin walls. No doubt discussing the plan, Jack moved his eyes from the window and down into his lap, where he fiddled his fingers, and waited.

Finally, the carriage door swung open, but instead of Edgar or Simon, Pitch was the one holding out a hand for Jack to take. Bewildered, he took it carefully, and stepped out of the carriage, and into the rain. Jack allowed himself to forget about the whole situation for a moment as he took in his new surroundings.

Unlike Pitch's palace, this superior lived above ground in a very stunning castle hidden by forest. He noticed that they weren't anywhere near a road anymore, but in the middle of nowhere, where this magnificent palace seemed to be the only inkling of civilization for miles. The architecture was dark, but elegant, and evidently the home of someone powerful.

Jack was scared, but he knew he had to get a grip. He wasn't a child, and no one was going to hold his hand as he went in. He had to be brave.

The boy exhaled loudly, and straightened his spine, raising his chin proudly. His arms were by his sides and his blue eyes fierce and fighting. It was now pouring, so his white hair stuck to the sides of his face. He hoped that he looked much more confident than he felt, but for what it was worth, he felt like he had regained a bit of his fight.

_Once Pitch and his daughter are safe, feel free to give this superior hell, _he thought to himself, the corners of his lips flickering up into a nuance of a smile.

Jack knew Pitch was watching him (probably in case he decided to make a run for it), but Jack didn't care. What had happened with Pitch was over, and Jack was just going to have to move on. There was no point in clinging to what could never be, and after this, he would probably never see the man again anyways. The thought hurt, but Jack tried to remind himself that now was not really the time to feel sentimental.

He waited for Pitch to signal him to go, but the signal never came, so Jack turned his brave eyes to his right.

What he saw almost melted his newly constructed composure away; those eyes looked so broken and sad, that Jack only wanted to retreat into those long, protective arms, and never leave.

"Shall we?" Jack initiated, and Pitch licked his lips.

With a final concerning look, Pitch extended a hand to indicate Jack should begin walking. He did so without breaking his composure, looking away from Pitch before he could lose whatever little confidence he had.

The door to this estate was constructed of moldy, chipping wood that only added to the rickety effect of age. It was daunting and dark, and Jack tried not to look at just how large it was as Pitch raised the knocker.

The echo was eerie, and ricocheted through the wood like the single ring of a gong. Jack suppressed a shiver at the sound just as the hinges creaked open, and through the small crack, a pair of blue eyes popped out.

"Who goes?" They whispered, their voice barely audible, but Pitch seemed to have no problem hearing them.

"I come bearing gifts for the realm of fear." He said, his tone assured. The blue eyes flickered to jack for a moment, then back to pitch, before the crack widened and the door opened completely.

The man was about as short as sandy, but he lacked that same comforting aura, and golden hair. In fact, this man was quite bald, and he had two protruding front teeth jutting through his lips that made him look like a rabbit.

Oddly enough, in that moment, he was reminded vaguely of Bunnymund, and for the first time in a long time, Jack felt nostalgic for home.

"Please come in," he said, his small, shifty eyes assessing the situation quickly, and side-stepping so Jack and Pitch could enter. Pitch gave a gracious nod of appreciation, and entered the home as if he had done so many times before. Jack took his casual entrance as a sign that he should follow. He couldn't help noticing that Pitch had now moved to stand in front of the boy; to protect him perhaps?

Jack's heartbeat skipped nervously.

He only walked a few paces past the small, shady man before Jack was engulfed in utter darkness, and he abruptly became quite frightened. He couldn't see where he was going, so he held out his hands to make sure he didn't run into anything.

Then, a warm, guiding hand slipped into Jack's and any nerve-wracking notions he had were gone. The grasp was gentle, and said things that words never could. Jack took the hand, secretly relieved, and followed Pitch further into the abyss, letting the knowledge of the older man direct him. After a while though, Jack's vision began to adjust, and he had an easier time putting one foot in front of the other, but he still didn't let go.

"Here," Pitch said out loud, and Jack stopped, but as he looked around, he didn't see anything significant. They were in the middle of a dusty, dark hallway. The floor creaked underneath their feet, and the old boards threatening to give way to their weight. Jack turned back to Pitch, clearly confused.

"Where's here?" he dared ask. Pitch only responded by letting go of Jack's hand, to which Jack responded with a kind of startled cough.

But only a moment later, Pitch reeled the boy in by the waist, pressing him to his hard chest firmly. Jack coughed again, only louder this time.

"The place we're going to teleport from," he said softly, and moved his nose to rest in Jack's bright white hair that glowed neon in the darkness. Jack sighed. He was trying so very hard to stay focused, but Pitch was making it very… _very _difficult.

"Pitch…" he started, but he couldn't bear to finish his sentence. The words just sort of died away on his tongue, and, despite his stubborn pride, he allowed himself to be fondled sweetly. Was this the grey man's way of saying he was sorry for everything that had happened? For everything that would happen?

If it was, then Jack accepted the apology graciously. He returned the gesture by timidly wrapping his own slender arms around Pitch's waist, and rested his head there.

"Prepare yourself," Pitch warned. Jack snorted.

"You'd think I'd be used to it by now." He retorted. He felt Pitch smile against his skull, before the two of them were sucked through the shadowy vortex, still tucked into each other's arms.

When they landed, Jack found that he had no trouble standing upright, but that might've been because Pitch was still holding him. He probably did that on purpose, Jack thought, not that he minded.

"How much traveling is this guy going to make us do?" he asked jokingly. At the words, Pitch immediately released Jack, and readjusted his shirt professionally.

"You don't honestly think the king of crime is going to just reveal his hideout to you, do you?" he asked with a scoff, shifting his posture so he stood to his full height, "Oh Jack, have you learned nothing from your three weeks as a criminal?"

"You mean my one day as your distraction?" Jack rebutled. Though, on the inside, he was feeling pretty stupid. Of course this guy was going to be as evasive, and indirect as possible. Like Pitch had said, he was the best of the best.

Once Pitch was done primping, the two just stood like that, side by side, apparently waiting for something. Jack clasped and unclasped his hands impatiently behind his back, his fear only building as the inactivity drew on… and on…

"How long do we wait?" Jack asked.

"As long as we are required to," Pitch replied simply, staring straight ahead. Jack supposed he should be following his example, but he couldn't help but think how pompous and rude it was to keep guests waiting.

Then, Pitch cleared his throat, signaling to Jack that now was the time. Jack took the opportunity to block out any thoughts he had at that moment, and just try and appear as self-assured as possible. Though, he did make a single promise to himself: he wouldn't utter a single word until Pitch was out of harm's way; he would have to make sure of that.

The two took slow footsteps that fell in sync as they approached a small flickering light at the end of this tunnel of shadows. It was dim, but was quite welcoming when compared to their current settings. Then, Jack's eyes began to make out the room as they reared closer; it was grand and well-built, just as Pitch had said.

A throne room, no doubt. There were no guards that he could see, but Jack figured that they were probably hiding somewhere in a corner. The design was circular, and tunnels were cut out of the walls on all sides. The openings of these tunnels were shrouded in shadows, preventing you from seeing past the first few inches. The room itself was completely constructed out of a kind of dark cobblestone, which reminded Jack of the box from his dream…

In the center was a single, intricately built throne, made with a twisted black metal that bent and curved up and around the armrests and the back of the chair like hundreds of ominous, shadowy snakes.

But none of this was the worst part. What Pitch had failed to mention about this room was that, woven through the silence like threads, were whispers that hissed and tickled at his eardrums. He could not pinpoint where they were coming from, but they were there. The words weren't those that Jack could understand. They wafted up and around his person like revolting scents, murmuring promises of death. Jack couldn't help but shake a little as he listened. It gave him the impression that he was surrounded by ghosts, or demons…

"Rise, Kozmotis Pitchiner," said a voice so commanding and ill-omened that Jack momentarily forgot all about the whispers. He suddenly looked down, and found that Pitch was kneeling on the floor, his head bowed towards the stone. This was a very unsuitable look for the dominating, and controlling Pitch that Jack knew during their time together.

He reluctantly turned his gaze towards the demonic sound.

The voice suited the figure almost too well, although, there was no way that this… thing could've been a man. He was shadows. There was no other description for him. Shadows and darkness molded together into a single, palpable figure with penetrating gold eyes… like Pitch's eyes, but about 1000 times more scrutinizing. He wore a basic grey suit that didn't suit his terrifying appearance at all. When he smiled down at Jack, he revealed two rows of sharp teeth.

"Jackson Frost," he addressed, "so nice to finally meet you."


	15. Chapter 15

**HEY GUYS! So, thank you so much for reading. You have no idea how much it means to me that you like my story. I love you so much!**

**I have a slight predicament that I need your help with.**

**I know pretty much where this whole story is headed… except the end. I DON'T KNOW HOW THE RESOLUTION SHOULD GO! I think it would be interesting to hear some of your ideas, seeing as you are probably all wonderful writers yourselves. Let me know what you think!**

**Thanks! –Anne**

"Wish I could say the same, but unfortunately, I didn't really want to meet you," Jack wanted to say, but he bit his tongue in an effort to restrain himself. The temperature in the room had dropped significantly, but maybe that was just Jack's fear talking. It was a good thing the cold didn't affect him, or he might've been shivering like crazy.

Pitch stood a good foot away from the boy, not even daring to look him in the eye anymore. Jack puffed out his chest and tried his best to lock eyes with this devil of a man, but it was very difficult. The gaze he was locked in was almost painful, and Jack felt like he was being analyzed like a piece of meat in a market. Compared to Pitch stare, which made Jack's heart leap into his throat with desire, this observation made Jack feel vulnerable, and striped down; like his inner most thoughts were being read.

He didn't last long, and had to look away after a few superior laughed.

"You have done… very well, Pitch." He sneered, turning his head slowly in Pitch's direction. To Jacks great admiration, Pitch didn't even flinch at the intensity for the superiors stare, almost like he was used to it by now. The bold choice to meet the demon's eyes was proof to Jack that Pitch was easily one of the bravest men he had ever met; if there had been any doubt before. The grey man said nothing, but nodded his head courteously. His fingers twitched behind his back, and Jack could tell that the only thing on Pitch's mind was getting his daughter back, and that he didn't really care about his superior's praise.

"Seraphina." The Pitch demanded with force.

The superior flashed those pointed fangs again, in what appeared to be an attempt at an understanding smile. Jack thought he only looked uncomfortable; like he had an itch that he couldn't scratch. He extended a dark, clawed hand in the direction of two shadow guards. Jack had assumed ghosts haunted the room when he first stepped inside, and these guards proved that he was not far from wrong. They held the figures of genies; the torso up resembled a well-built man, but where their legs should have been was only smoke. Like shadows, they did not possess the defined features of a man, only a dark outline of one. Their eyes glowed a dim yellow against their black, ghostly backdrops.

"I am a man of my word, Kozmotis." He said, sounding more sympathetic than Jack believed he was, "these guards will take you to your daughter."

The light in Pitch's eyes ignited with such brightness, like a thirsty man finally given water after scrambling around the desert for years. The eyes were the only thing that gave away Pitch's true happiness, because the rest of Pitch's demeanor maintained its steady, business composure that Pitch wore so well. He nodded again, and stiffly turned to brush past Jack on his way to the guards.

This was the last time Jack would see Pitch, and he wan't even allowed to say goodbye.

The boy watched the three shadowy figures turn down one of the many shady tunnels, and vanish into thin air, leaving Jack alone with _him_. Jack swore that it was almost like death himself was parading around the pair of them in circles, teasing Jack with light pricks from his cold fingers. It wouldn't be long now… or, maybe it would. This superior obviously wasn't a merciful man, after all. He might make Jack suffer before he killed him. When compared to the golden fleet members that Jack had coincided with earlier that month, Jack decided he would definitely prefer them to this shadowy demon standing before him.

"And now, Jackson Frost," he growled with that voice deeper than the pits of hell, "I can only imagine that you must be… curious as to why I've brought you here…"

* * *

Pitch was angry. He was angry with himself, he was angry with Jack, he was angry with his superior… hell, he was angry at these guards leading him to his daughter! Anyone who even walked in Pitch's general direction, he would find something to be angry at them for.

The idea that he had… allowed himself to be seduced by none other than Jackson Frost, a boy he had kidnapped that held no immediate significance to him, was unbelievably frustrating. How could he have allowed himself to go to such lengths? How could he have lost control?

Pitch was good at these things: he was tactful, resourceful, intelligent, and possessed common sense! He knew, from the moment he saw the boy at that cotillion, and found himself almost entranced by his beauty; he knew that he would need to be careful with this one. Pitch had acquired prisoners in the past that held a certain… shall we say, quality of attractiveness, but he had always managed to control his impulses. Years of being tormented had turned Pitch hard, and little to nothing got through to him.

But something about those… startling blue eyes that pierced you like an icicle; that white hair that glowed even in the shadows; that blunt observation that saw Pitch in a way that he'd never even seen _himself_ before... it made Pitch believe Jack was different. He couldn't recall the last time he had been so happy than when he was with the boy.

And now, Pitch was just handing over Jack… _his_ jack, to this abomination of a human being. The boy was one thing that had managed to drag Pitch from the cold guilt that had tortured him for years, and now he was just letting him slip through his fingers?

Unclenching and clenching his fists did no good. The livid feelings that Pitch felt could not be controlled with a simple muscle exercise. This couldn't happen again… not again… He wouldn't allow it.

The guards, which were almost invisible in their current surroundings, turned a corner. It came up short on a wooden door with a large, black handle. The two turned, and flanked either side of the entrance, holding their spears proudly. Pitch stopped as well, not trusting these guards. He was smart enough to wait until he was permitted to enter before just barging in, even though he had waited years to finally be reunited with his daughter.

A small flicker of hope seized Pitch in the chest, and he forgot about his angst for a moment. He was finally going to see his baby girl again…

The guards stood there for a little while longer, and Pitch, who could hardly wait any longer, considered their silence permission to proceed. With a graceful hand, he grabbed the handle, and shoved with the strength of a soldier.

The room smelled wet, and just like everything else, it was dark. To Pitch though –who had thrived in the dark for years and years- it may as well have been daytime. To him, the moldy bricks that made up the walls were easy to observe, as well as the wooden supports holding up the ceiling of the cellar.

But… there was no one inside this room.

Pitch had quick reflexes, and he only needed a moment to make sure what he was seeing was correct, before turning on his two escorts.

They had followed him into the room. Their daunting, spear looking weapons were aimed almost directly at Pitch's heart, and they danced centimeters away from his flesh the moment he spun around.

"What is this?" Pitch seethed, his teeth bared. The shadow guards didn't look surprised by his sudden anger, and did not move. "Where is my daughter?"

The emotionless ghosts responded.

"Dead," they admitted.

Pitch's entire world collapsed around him, and he could feel his heart shattering. Dead. Seraphina was dead.

_He_ had killed her.

If there was anything worse than blinding rage, that is what Pitch felt. His body no longer existed. He was now a machine, itching to kill.

"You killed her?" he said aloud, more or less trying to replay the whole thing for himself, his tone on the precipice of lethal, "you killed my daughter, and you dared to bring me here? To the place where you MURDERED HER?"

"We had new orders," one of them said. "Our superior has said it is high time you… retired."

He pressed the nose of his spear into the fabric of Pitch's vest, resting it against the muscle beneath.

"And he commanded us to make sure that you were reunited with your daughter."

* * *

"Yeah, now that you mention it," Jack croaked, trying his very hardest to sound bold and brash, but he cringed at the pathetic sound that came out instead. "I am a bit curious."

The superior didn't seem to mind Jack's attitude as Pitch had. In fact, it looked like he rather enjoyed it... preferred it. Looking completely at ease, he lowered himself down into the black throne, a long-nailed hand stroking his black chin.

"Well don't worry. I'm not like your beloved Pitch. I'm quite blunt, and to the point," said the superior. Jack's eyes flashed and his heart kipped when the superior used the word "beloved". Did he know? Did he know about Jack and Pitch?

From Jack's perspective, everything just got a whole lot worse.

"As you probably already know, seeing as you are a resident of this planet, the north and the south are at war," he began, his tone practically delighted, like war pleased the man. "But what you don't know is that it was me who started the war in the first place."

Jack cocked an eyebrow at the superiors boastfulness.

"...you started the war?" he asked, trying to sound skeptical. Again, the superior ignored Jack's tone.

"Yes... it was my biggest plan. My most ingenious scheme. I'm sure Pitch has divulged everything about me to you," he said again flippantly, "he despises me, and doesn't try very hard to keep my presence a secret. So you're probably already quite aware of who i am and what i do."

Jack opened his mouth to lie, and say that he didn't know anything; but his conscious betrayed him, and his voice teetered on the edge of his tongue and died away. The superior clearly didn't care.

"Oh, don't be so loyal. You know that i'm dangerous. I think it would be much more practical to tell the truth, don't you?"

Jack closed his mouth.

"This war... this glorious, beautiful war is my criminal master piece. You can only imagine how powerful i must be if i can throw an entire planet into chaos. It was the ultimate test."

"I find it very... hard to believe that this war began because of you," Jack fought. The superior rubbed the pads of his fingers together and chuckled.

"It _began_ with the capturing of Kozmotis Pitchiner. His... fleet was one of the few barriers keeping the planet together. "Peace" was a crude term for what we had achieved. People were itching for war, that much was obvious, and it only took a few quick blows to get it started. Using my vast resources, I convinced Kozmotis to join me-"

"And by convinced, do you mean threatened?" Jack retorted, his blood burning. The superiors head snapped to look at the boy, to which Jack responded with a quick glance at the floor. It was pointless however because he could still feel the burning gaze on him.

"He told you," the superior said curiously, not sounding angry so much as disbelieving. Silence followed his remark. Jack swallowed hard.

"You must mean more to him than he lead me to believe," he continued softly, his voice prickling at Jack's skin like a thousand spiders. "quite an achievement on his part. I am not easy to fool."

He turned away and Jack's breathing steadied again. He carefully looked up.

"Yes, i threatened him. And once he was gone, nothing was left to hold the fleet together. They lasted a few months more before the power struggle consumed them, and the angry men split off in various directions. The entire world followed suit soon after; without their guardians, who was to stop them from wreaking havoc on each other?"

"But, why?" Jack asked, "what could you gain from war that you don't already have?"

"I already told you: a test of my power."

Jack allowed himself to snort.

"I'm not stupid. You really think i'd believe that you plunged a planet into war just to reassure yourself that you're still the big man? No, that's the kind of thing someone self-conscious would do... someone unsure."

He took a step forward, his hands shaking, but no longer from fear.

"I think its clear that you're not unsure of your power."

The superior drank in Jack's words hungrily, and then an ear-splitting smile stretched across his face. The pointed teeth glistened in the dim light of the dungeon-like throne room. Jack suppressed a violent shiver.

"Very, very good Jackson," he praised, his voice smooth and sadistic. "Pitch was right... you are more clever than I give you credit for."

He shifted his position so now he faced the front.

"I was going to try and give you some time to adjust to the idea," he said lightly, "but since you are so insistent... I threw this planet into war because war is when empires are at their weakest. They throw their strength at the one enemy, but leave the rest of themselves vulnerable, and susceptible to attacks from other enemy's. War is a criminals golden age. It is when we can do whatever we want because everyone is too preoccupied with the fighting that we can slip past, invisible.

In this particular case, we are the other enemy, and the worse this war becomes, the stronger we grow."

Jack gritting his teeth and shook his head.

"Well then, you got your stupid war," he snarled, "everything is going exactly according to plan isn't it? But what have i got to do with any of this?"

"You aren't very patient are you?" The superior pointed out lazily. Jack wasn't insulted in the slightest. Impatient was something he had always been called, ever since he was a child.

"Yeah, i am," he admitted confidently. The superior grinned, and then continued to talk.

"There is more to my plan then just war," he explained. "Now that the north and south have split, and each hemisphere is just as defenseless as the other, i plan to start my own war."

Jack paused, confused.

"Your... your own war?"

"If i attack each hemisphere now," he said, his mannerisms becoming more and more excited as he revealed his plan, "when no on is expecting a third enemy, it will be all but too easy to overthrow the empires. They will not be able to do anything, because all their defenses are too busy fighting each other.

I will take over the world... the people will be conquered. My men free to partake in as much crime as they wish... A criminal's paradise."

Jack's utter horror only increased as the superior thoroughly divulged his plan, leaving him thunderstruck.

"How do you expect to take over an entire planet, without an army?" he pointed out, his spitefulness reflected in his words.

"Oh but Jack, I don't _need _an army," the devilish man hissed, his hungry gaze giving Jack a once over, "because I've got you."


	16. Chapter 16

**CHILDREN I HAVE RETURNED FROM THE DEAD! Sorry to keep you waiting but shit gets in the way. **

**And I'm sorry about the cliffhangers, but I'm probably not gonna stop. ;) I didn't label it as suspense for nothing.**

**Shoutout to: VampireShinobie, The Demons Rose, paola-uchiha-haruno, AzucenaXshadows, and monchikis for their input on how the story should end. I've got a wicked idea now, and it changes everything. I think this fic is going to be longer than I anticipated. **

**And now, without further ado… **

Pitch stood there, dumbfounded, feeling the sharp sting of the blade just barely cutting into his chest. The two shadow soldiers hovered there for a moment, letting the silence lazily lap around the three of them like dangerous waves.

"Anything you'd like to say before you die?" one of them said monotonously. Pitch's body remained frozen to the spot, his grief weighing him down like the heaviest burden in the world.

Dead… she was dead… Pitch had nothing left. Time seemed to slow as his discombobulated thoughts and feelings died away pitifully, leaving behind a pathetic mess of hopelessness in their wake. The shadows could not protect him… nothing could protect Pitch from himself this time.

… Maybe death was better. After all, he had lived in pain for so long. His daughter was the only thing that had kept him going… kept him motivated enough to pursue his unwanted occupation as a criminal. Without her, that small, smoldering flicker of light extinguished itself, presenting a never ending black void that Pitch had no desire to confront.

There was nothing left for him.

Death… he rolled the word around in him mind, admiring the way it sounded. Yes, death would be a welcomed experience…

Then, on Pitch's shaky inhale, a single thought that had been too stubborn to fade away spoke up.

_Jack _was all it said. _Jack…_

The pain Pitch felt was still excruciating, and his blackened heart still cried out for his long lost daughter, but this one name echoing throughout the inner region of his mind sent a startling jolt through him. It felt like lightning had touched down, tingling all the way from his head to his toes. It was enough to drag the grey man from his sudden crushing depression and into something much more manageable by Pitch's standards:

Anger.

Using this newfound energy that livened up Pitch's purpose, he grasped the spear with impeccable strength and yanked the tip away from his chest. Bending it back, the unsuspecting guard clung to the opposite end desperately, surprised by this sudden turn of events. As Pitch threw the weapon across the room and away from himself, the guard went with it. The second immediately lunged at the prisoner, but Pitch was much too nimble, and ducked just before the sharp end of the second spear could crash into his skull. He swung a leg underneath the guard's feet, sending him stumbling back into the brick. Without a moment to spare, Pitch melded into the shadows, chuckling in a slightly psychopathic way.

The two guards shook off whatever damage had been done, and they turned around to attack Pitch again, but they found that their prisoner had vanished. Nervously, they stepped towards the middle of the room, moving slowly, and looking around suspiciously.

"This is going to be a terrible inconvenience for you," came Pitch's voice that seemed to be coming from everywhere in the room at once, "but, unfortunately, I'm going to have to kill you now."

The last thing that could be heard was that mad laughter of a broken man, before the guards were consumed.

* * *

"…me." Jack repeated, biting his tongue. He broke out into a disbelieving smile. The superior readjusted his position on the thrown, resting his chin in his hand as he observed the boy.

"Yes, Jack, you." He said plainly, "I have no _need _of any army, if I have you on my side. However, that doesn't mean that I'm foolish enough not to have one. But you are the pièce de résistance; the most important part of my imaginative plan."

Jack's heart sank into his stomach, and his weak smile flickered and died.

"Explain," he demanded. Jack was still scared out of his godforsaken mind, but he found the more he listened to this man, the angrier he grew. And Jack was much more comfortable being angry than scared. This whole scheme couldn't just happen. He needed to find some way to stop it…

"Do you remember that staff that Pitch gave you?" The superior pondered, "Do you remember how it felt when you had it in your hands, Jack?"

Jack didn't even bother to nod. He just glared at the man, every pore in this body seething with hatred.

"Pitch wasn't lying. He and his men had been given the staff as a gift for protecting a small tribe of people up to the north. I knew that once Pitch was under my control, the staff would henceforth be mine. The staff… the success of my plan revolved around that staff. Because that's where all your power comes from Jack."

"You never knew your parents, yes? Your real parents?" the man laughed sharply, "'_the chiefs of Istas'… _pathetic weaklings, both of them. Granted, Pitch had stopped me from completely demolishing the puny tribe, but your parents were the first I had snuffed out. By the time the Golden Fleet arrived, it was too late. But it didn't matter, because the staff was handed over to the warriors. The one thing I needed…"

Jack's jaw dropped. This man had killed… his parents?

He didn't even want him to finish his pathetic sob story about how "difficult" the plan had been. Jack didn't care how he planned on using him, or why he was so important.

All he wanted to do was sling his tiny, white hands around that long black neck, and watch his face go gaunt as death overtook his body.

"You… you disgusting monster!" he screamed mirthlessly, and ran forward, his vision tinted in red. Every muscle in his body screamed for bloodshed. He wanted to see how red this man's insides really were.

Two guards pulled him back with strength equal to a ball and chains. Jack struggled, his wrists chaffing under their grip, and his feet twisting into the stone beneath his feet. The superior rolled his eyes and turned to inspect his claw-like fingernails.

"I thought you _wanted_ me to tell you why I need you," he drawled, "didn't anyone ever tell you that it's rude to interrupt?"

"GET OFF ME!" Jack yelled at the shadowy guards, hardly expelling any effort to restrain him. They stood their lifelessly, clinging to his writhing body. They didn't budge a single inch.

"As I was saying," he continued, "once I retrieved the staff, everything fell right back into place. I had to make sure that you were the one I needed. I was almost positive you were, but I sent Pitch to your cotillion to make sure. Mistakes could be fatal.

Because you see Jack, no one else could have drawn the power from that staff. Only a descendant from that small tribe could ever hope to coax such a reaction from it. The power inside of you can be directed and influenced by the weapon. It's in your blood. You were just who I needed."

"Well… sorry to break this to you," Jack snarled in-between breaths, "but that staff isn't strong enough to start a whole new war!"

"That's because you aren't using it right," he said, shaking his head like jack was some sort of misguided child, "but I could teach you, Jack."

Then, he stood from his twisted throne and stepped of the short pedestal. He tried to lock eyes with the boy, but Jack grimaced and harshly turned his head away. A disgustingly cold hand with finger nails sharp as knives gripped the sides of his face and reeled him back in. The yellow burned Jack's insides, only intensifying the rage he already felt.

"Let me teach you," he said, his deep voice reverberating of Jack's bones. Once Jack was trapped in the never ending fire of the superior's eyes, he felt the hand move to stroke his cheek. Then, it ran gently along his shoulder blades, and down his arms, right before it grazed the space between Jack's legs. Jack's teeth were grinding so hard, that they might as well have been reduced to stubs.

Without even thinking, he spit in the superior's face.

The man didn't seem angry. Just a bit put off. He sighed, and shrugged, removing his wandering hand, and standing up straight again.

"No matter," he said, wiping away the vile substance, "I don't need your consent, Jack."

He spoke as he spun on his heels and walked back to his chair. Jack let out an internal sigh of relief.

"It won't be long before you'll do anything I say."

"In your dreams," Jack snapped angrily.

"Take him to his quarters." The superior said. The shadows guards doubled their strength, and Jack was pulled back towards one of the tunnel openings. He went with them willingly this time, not wanting to spend another second alone with this man.

"You'll pay for killing them!" Jack screamed on his way out, "I'll make you pay!"

The superior didn't even grace him with a response.

* * *

Pitch had to admire how clean the deaths of the guards were. Seeing as they weren't human, it was much less messy than he thought it would've been.

He popped in and out of shadows on his way through the labyrinth that was his superior's lair, his senses on high alert for any sign of trouble. Pitch had never gotten this far into the palace, but now he had the advantage. He was supposed to be dead.

Pitch was not one to stumble around corridors sloppily like Jack. He knew better than that. He had instincts that drew him towards whatever he needed, and right now, he only had one thing on his mind…

Left, right, left, left, right, left.

He was moving towards the place where he had been before, and where he was sure he was now. Pitch knew this place because he himself had been taken there a few times. Pitch had never been one to pray, but if he wasn't there now, than the grey man was completely out of options…

Finally, he reached the door he was looking for, and with a cocky, satisfied smile, he kicked it open.

These cellars were grimier, and much more unpleasant than the one Pitch had been sent to. They smelled like rotting meat and the air was sticky. Every inch of the place was covering in mold, rust, or dirt.

Pitch tried to move throughout the room with as much dignity as he could. He peered into each cell, his hopes falling each time that it was empty. The smell was starting to give him a headache.

"…Pitch?" came a voice.

Pitch's hope soared through the roof as he turned to look down the long row of jail cells, and his eyes landed on the only one containing something of living origin. He hurried over to it, and clasped his hands around both bars, looking down.

"Sanderson, thank god…"

Sandy looked dreadful. His usually golden appearance was tainted in brown, making him almost invisible to the naked eye. His spiked hair lay flat and his chubbiness had started to fade. Nevertheless, the man seemed more chipper than ever, almost like he was enjoying himself.

"Always good to see you old friend," he said, bowing slightly. Pitch nodded courteously before melding through the shadows. He landed on the other side of the cage.

"I'm glad I found you," he stated, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt.

"Well, you know how He can be. I think He just likes to lock me up for sport sometimes."

"You took the dream sand for yourself didn't you?" Pitch said knowingly.

Sandy shrugged.

"Can't really 'take' something that was already mine, can I?"

"Hold on," Pitch said, snagging the little man by his shoulders and teleporting them out of the cell. Sandy wobbled around for a moment or two, and then shook it off.

"Fabulous. But, um… quick question Pitch… might I ask how you got in here?" he inquired.

"Another time, my friend. Right now, I need your help."

Sandy's expression turned concerning as he waited for Pitch to continue. The grey man took a steadying breath. The stench really was awful.

"Jack is here, and he's in danger." He said, "And I'll need your help to save him."


End file.
